Keep Your Head Above The Water
by Naidoo
Summary: Stephanie gets herself in more trouble than she can handle and eventually has to run to save herself. Rating just for now, might change. Eventually Babe-HEA.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: About half a year ago I started writting this and have been writting on it more or less nonstop since - discarding chapters and rewritting a few. The story itself isn't finished yet, but about 23 chapters have been written - though the first 15 are not connected to the last 9 :) Apologies ahead for cliffhangars and maybe mistakes I make with the timeline or explanations at a later stage. My initial idea was to finish the story and then post it, but I have come to some sort of stop in my writting-frenzy so I hope starting to post now gives me hopefully a kick in the butt. Also since they more or less inspired the story..., I am a huge fan of the Babe stories "Gone Girl" by Kadyn and "Normal Time" by Harmne. So credit where credit is due._

 _Enjoy. As always, feedback is appreciated and if you find the time, review if you'd like.  
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 **"The darkest hour is just before the dawn" Thomas Fuller**

When you look at the gossip magazines and there is a sensational story about the breakdown of some A-, B- or even Z-list celebrity, reporters are always quick at pointing out the exact breaking point. It always seems so "had to happen" afterwards and everyone is quick in saying why it would end in a train-wreck sooner or later. People found reasons, blamed family or friends or boyfriends. It was always so easy and so quickly explained.

Looking back at my life so far, I wasn't sure where the breaking point had been. I was always kind of average, never standing out specifically. Sure, I was good for a headline or another report on the news whenever I managed to set another of my cars on fire. Or got myself into more trouble than I could handle. But… it still was kind of average. I was ok, went on with life and brought in my men – and occasionally women.

My mother tried marrying me of to what could maybe be the best first choice there was as quickly as possible. My father was less involved in these choices. And my grandmother was definitely more on the "do whatever makes you happy" train these days. I had two great guys in my life who sooner or later would probably have made me choose. Or see that maybe I wasn't worth the trouble. I can say proudly I never managed to cheat on one of them with the other. We just always happened to be on a break or just _not like that_ to begin with. Ranger and Morelli had a professional sort of respect for each other but secretly hated each other's guts – that's what I'd like to think anyway. Morelli was constantly warning me about Ranger and Ranger, well, he didn't speak much to begin with. So it was always a bit difficult to say what exactly his stand was on issues like this.

But all that was in the past. With Morelli I wasn't talking – and things were definitely very, very difficult right now – and Ranger, well Ranger was in the wind. There was no way for me to contact him – and even if I knew a way I wasn't sure whether he'd actually was willing to talk to me.

Ranger had been my endless supply of help over the past few years, but it seemed that one time when I would have needed his help more than ever before he wasn't available.

I'm Stephanie Plum.

Ex-Bounty Hunter

Ex-Burg-Girl

Ex-Girlfriend of Trenton cop Joseph Morelli

Ex-Law Abiding citizen (apparently)

And freshly crowned Fugitive. And right on top of Trenton PD's Most Wanted List!

Where had things gone wrong again?


	2. Chapter 2

There comes a point in everyone's life that would turn things around, which would change life forever – for the better or the worse. These turning points would usually define who we are, or rather would be and would define us for the rest of our lives. Or not. For me it was… always trouble that seemed to find me almost naturally. But usually I was able to find my way out of said trouble – generally with a bit of help of Ranger.

Little did I know that the trouble that was about to find me would outshine everything even by my standards. It wouldn't be just bad, it would be worse than worst.

As most times it all was Joyce Barnhard's fault. I'm not even surprised. But to be fair, she couldn't really be blamed, seeing that she had been found dead several weeks ago. In some back alley, stabbed to death. Her face had been cut badly, making it almost impossible to recognize her. They only found out it was Joyce when they took her prints and ran them. Due to heavy rainfall that night when the murder took place there wasn't much that could be taken from the crime scene to help the investigation. To say I was happy would have been wrong for so many reasons – it was a death of a person after all. But I wasn't particular distraught either. It was Joyce after all - but even she didn't deserve to die. No one does. Especially not like that – in a back alley, stabbed and cut and most likely alone.

Everyone knew that Joyce and me were frenemies at best. We didn't hate each other's gut but we weren't best friends either. On good days she was a mild pain in my ass, on others she could bring up murderous thoughts. Joyce was… well, cheap, sleazy and a tramp to be honest. She had managed to screw most people in Trenton one way or another. If she wasn't sleeping with you, she scammed your for money or had ulterior motives why she was so interested in you. I hate saying this – especially after she is dead and my mother raised me to never speak ill of the dead – but she always had something or some scheme going on. If she wasn't after your money, she was after your man because she hated your guts and wanted to pay you back for whatever you ever did to her.

Her list of _associates_ was long, the list of people who hated her guts even longer. Trenton PD was sure as hell not having a picnic with this one. Until a few days ago that is. I had been early on ruled out as suspect, seeing that I had an alibi and no real motive. Generally speaking I'd say one didn't need a real motive. It was Joyce after all.

And then things changed – a lot. So much so that I moved not only back on the list of suspects, I actually became the list of suspects. Turns out the initial time of death was wrong and the correct one was a time I had no alibi for. That's the downside of your job as a bounty Hunter. You spent a lot of time on your own. I'd say that actually is a good thing, until you need an alibi that is. RangeMan – bless their hearts – argued that they could provide data from my trackers but as my misfortune went on it just happened that the devices and systems had been down that night for maintenance.

It also didn't help that witnesses had stepped forward, reporting of words between me and Joyce the day before her death. I might or might not have left angry, and yelling something about one of us killing the other – more precisely me killing her. Of course everyone who knew me and Joyce knew that threats like that were issued regularly without any substance. But… well… it didn't help that she was found dead a day later. I had been at her place and Joyce lived in a rather busy part of town. Plenty of people had seen me leave, yelling. We had words about her idea of being a bounty hunter again and deciding to cash in on my cases which Vinnie had oh-so-conveniently given to her as well. It wasn't helping my case when the murder weapon was found. Behind a dumpster. With Joyce blood on it. And partials that matched my prints. I couldn't explain it, had no way of arguing, other than "I didn't do it" and "I have never seen that knife in my life". But guess what? Lines like these didn't impress the cops. I assumed they heard that on a daily base really, well… when you were working homicides anyway.

What started as me playing it off as just something that would go away as quickly as it has shown up moved soon enough to serious business. It wasn't going away. Quite the opposite – it started moving towards prosecution and trial with a jury and everything.

My mother was quick in hiring me a defense lawyer – aka my brother in law – who tried arguing that the assumptions and accusations so far were nonsense. I might have wanted to add that yes, my brother in law was a lawyer, but he wasn't particularly good at this. And I was almost certain he'd never had to deal with a murder case before. But then again, _how_ do you explain the knife? And the prints? Even from her grave Joyce managed to screw me somehow.

I tried investigating myself but when you are the main and only suspect people are less than forthcoming. They see you as the one who did it and weren't particularly helpful.

For the police it became a clear case. The fact that half the town knew about my rather complicated relationship to Joyce and my ex-husband Richard Orr and having found both of them screwing the hell out of each other didn't help either. Regardless that this had been years ago and I had long since moved on and gotten divorced. It still was considered as part of my motive and as what psychologists refer to as delayed revenge. Apparently it is a women's thing.

I had people up and down Trenton coming to my hopeful rescue. From my parents and sister, to my lawyer – and brother in law – even my nieces were dragged to the police station. Lula and Connie, as well as MaryLou, Vinnie and everyone else from my direct or distant family came in, giving statements and making sure to tell everyone I'd never kill anyone. Everyone who was still around at RangeMan was stepping forward. Morelli even was one step away from giving me a false alibi for the night. The only reason really why he didn't do it was me and my conscious. If it was discovered that he lied it could cost him his job and career. And I certainly didn't want that. I did what I was always told and raised with. "Always trust in the system." So trusting I did. They wouldn't send someone who was innocent to prison, right?

Wrong!


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Interestingly enough, I keep changing and adding minor things before posting each new chapter - based on some comments made in reviews. I'd like to point out that some parts in the story might seem e_ _xaggerated_ _and over-the-top behaviour, OOC even, but I'd like to think when faced with muder charges everyone would freak out and be a bit over the top!_

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It figures that the one time I needed help the most my own personal superhero wasn't around. Not that I relied on him – much – and I'm certain over the years and with all the fiascos he managed to save me from, I'd still have been ok, if he hadn't stepped in. And that wasn't me being ungrateful. It was just me moving things into perspective on the " _how fucked are you?"_ -scale.

With my current situation I knew I was in way over my head. I knew Ranger had been in the wind for the past few months and what made it even worse was that most of the core team and guys I knew so well at RangeMan weren't around either. Lester, Bobby and Tank were sent to some place in the woods in Canada for god knows what reason. Last I heard from Cal it was hard to establish contact outside the preset times, which apparently was once every ten days. Ranger was completely unreachable – but even when I'd been able to reach him I'm not sure how he would have been able to help me. He sure as hell wouldn't abandon the mission for his country just to help me once more out of trouble.

Cal had tried as well as he could help me, but even he wasn't limitless in his resources. He got me an attorney next to my current one, who was my brother in law. Apparently Cal had made sure RangeMan's own top notch lawyer was representing me as well.

For the police my case was cut and dry from the moment the murder weapon had been found. Not that I could blame them much. And quite honestly, if I had read about it in the papers, I would have found myself guilty as well. It wasn't as if there were a lot of details floating around, but the few that were happened to be enough for a lot of people to judge me on and find me guilty. People who had been all "She didn't do it" when this mess started, were now singing a different tune. And people I had thought of as friends or the likes all off a sudden claimed they didn't know me anymore.

But it wasn't just me that was affected. My family had found themselves between the lines and I could do nothing to change the situation. Two days before the trial it became that obvious that I pretty much could guarantee I wouldn't make it out of this one. So I needed a plan. Two days wasn't nearly enough time to come up with some amazing solution and real murder-suspect, but it was better than nothing.

Now people might say I overreact, but quite honestly, I had been in trouble before, but it was never serious. It didn't help that for the past week I had recurring dreams of me in front of a jury that was made up of Joyce' lookalikes, finding me guilty on all charges and sending me to hell. I woke up every night drenched in sweat and worrying some more, despite what people told me. And murder charges weren't like shoplifting that left you with a slap on the wrist and a fine. Murder charges were serious.

I wasn't sure whether New Jersey still participated in the practice of executing the death penalty and I sure as hell wasn't going to find out.

Three days before the trial I had a pre-hearing. A judge determined I was for the moment at no risk of fleeing so I was released on bond – oh the irony, seeing how I made my living. What shocked me was not the amount of half a million dollars – well that as well – but the fact that Cal showed up and paid the bond in the name of RangeMan.

"Ranger would kill me when he comes back and finds out I didn't save you from rotting in some stingy jail."

"But half a million. That is way too much."

At that Cal just shrugged and smiled.

"I'll pay you or RangeMan back, I swear," I promised at which Cal all of a sudden smiled even wider.

"Sure, because we all know Ranger accepts your money. Ranger will die before that happens. I mean… over all the years, when he gave you cars and protection and resources and a place to stay… how often did he accept money from you?"

"That is hardly the same. None of that adds up to half a million. Not saying that these weren't pricey things either, but… half a million? No way will I let that rest and not try paying him back. Last time I checked RangeMan didn't print its own money and you guys probably don't just have millions laying around, ready to be used to bust dumb brunettes out of jail…"

"Ok, first of all you are not dumb. You got yourself in a situation that makes it hard to get out of all by yourself and second… well, we actually do," Cal said.

"You do what?" I asked confused.

"Have millions laying around. Though not …actually laying around but rather locked up in a safe in the basement," Cal explained. He and I both didn't know at this point, but that information would soon help me in a way I didn't like and particularly felt proud about.

With me in tow Cal drove back to RangeMan and told me I had the choice of either staying up on seven or getting a place on the fourth floor.

"What's wrong with my own place?" I asked, certain that posting bail didn't mean you get the right to tell people where they could stay – though I wasn't complaining. Ranger's apartment on seven was a major upgrade to my own humble crib. Even the employee apartments on four were an upgrade to be honest. And staying here meant I couldn't get into much more trouble – was that even possible? Also, it had Ella, who'd make sure I would eat proper and healthy for a change.

I hadn't slept well that first night at RangeMan and it didn't get much better when getting up and running across one of the headlines of the major newspapers in Trenton. I made the headlines again.

" **The Bombshell Bounty Hunter goes to trail – Did she do it? You decide, all the facts and what we know so far!"** read the headline. I couldn't help but grab one and read what they had to say. In a way it is weird reading about yourself in the papers. Especially an article that stretches over six pages and covers everything from pretty much my birth til present day. Of course the highlights were my adventures as bounty hunter as well as my alternations with Joyce and my husband. Having finished the article I myself couldn't decide whether they painted me in a neutral light or made me out to be the bad one. This article sure as hell wasn't flattering and to be honest there were a few parts that were made up.

"I reached Ranger's handler," Cal informed me the moment I set foot again into RangeMan.

The first really good – well, semi-good – news in weeks. I couldn't help but look hopeful at him.

"Unfortunately he couldn't tell me where Ranger is, but promised to pass a massage on to him the next time they speak. Apparently that isn't that often," Cal explained and my hopes slowly died again. Not that I showed any signs – hopefully. As I said before, even if he was around, I wouldn't know how he should be able to really help and make it all go away. I had tried looking into the case with the somewhat limited resources I had. If I thought people were hardly talking to you when you were after their loved one because they were in violation of their bond agreement, I learned they talked even less so when you were the bad one who killed someone.

So that night… I didn't spent sleeping once more. I sat on the floor of Ranger's extremely soft rug in his living room and came up with a plan. The longer I spent thinking and coming up with something, the more I realized I would have to hurt a few people in the progress. People I loved and cared for and who might never forgive me. But maybe it was time to put myself first for a change and fight for my life. So a plan was set up and soon, all of this would hopefully be left behind me.

Of course the feeling of knowing I'd have to hurt some people, and also lose their trust was tough to swallow. I hated to hurt people and did like it even less to disappoint. But looking back at my plan and what was waiting for me the next few days I realized I had little choice. I reached a point where I wasn't so sure that trusting in the system was going to work in my favor.

I could only hope that luck one last time was on my side. So I hoped. And prayed that things would work out. Just one last time. Because apparently my trust in the system wasn't enough to keep my head out of the sling.


	4. Chapter 4

I started my day early. I had a lot to do and only one real day to get everything done.

My mother always was quick in trash-talking my job and that nothing good ever came out of it. Today, as it turned out, I would proof her wrong. The kind of people I came in touch with throughout the years would prove more than just useful today.

My first stop was Stark Street. I met a dealer who I had busted a few months earlier. He was an ok kind of guy and didn't deal in really hard stuff. Apparently he had a conscious since he also didn't sell to kids. I think Angus was the only dealer who requested ID to see that you were 18 or over to buy from him. Don't get me wrong, what he did was still wrong, but there also were way worse guys around Stark Street that sold you way shadier and more dangerous stuff than what Angus had on offer.

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it," Angus said when spotting me.

"I'm not here for busting you. As a matter of fact, I'm here for some business," I said, handing him a piece of paper with the name of what I required. He unfolded it and stare at me, shocked for a moment.

"Yo ain't in trouble, pretty girl, are you?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Not more than what made the papers," I assured him and got a grin as reply.

"You didn't do nothing. A pretty face like yours couldn't hurt no soul…" How reassuring, that a dealer thought I was innocent as well, though only because I seemed to have an innocent face.

"Well, we'll see about it, won't we," I replied.

A moment later he looked around us and handed me a small bottle, for which I handed him a twenty dollar bill. And just like that our business was done and I apparently had just succeeded in scoring. Not sure whether that was something I should be proud of really.

"Don't do anything stupid, pretty girl, yo hear me?" he asked, when I was about to leave. I was wondering whether that question was only for me, or whether all his customers heard it as well. As I said, not your regular drug dealer.

I walked back to my car, when I ran into Morelli.

"Please tell me I didn't just witness you scoring from a dealer?" he almost yelled, and I saw a few heads around us turn. Subtle was never a strength Morelli possessed.

"I didn't…" I said meekly, knowing he wasn't believing me. Just my luck, the one time I actually do something semi-illegal Morelli was there to witness it.

"This isn't working in your favor, Cupcake. I'm supposed to be your character witness. But with you being here and doing… _that_ I don't think I can…"

The way he said it sounded like I was selling my body rather than buying ... well, sort of drugs from a dealer. And the way he said it…something sounded off.

"Wait a minute. You… you don't believe I killed Joyce, do you?" I asked more or less shocked. His silence was more than enough answer for me.

"I don't know what believe anymore, Cupcake. The evidence is piling up like crazy and it all points towards you. Then I find you on Stark, buying drugs. You know… I start wondering whether Manoso and his guys finally rubbed off on you. Maybe Joyce was in your way or saw something she wasn't supposed to see and you took her out. Or how else would you explain your prints on the murder weapon?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I almost screamed. I know, not mature or grown-up, but how else was I supposed to react to Morelli's crazy theory. And yeah, I couldn't explain the prints or anything really. "You have known me since we were kids, Joe. You don't possibly think I would ever do this, do you?"

"You wouldn't be the first one to play one hell of an act, Cupcake. Regardsless of how many years I do know you. Lately I have seen sides of you I didn't think I'd ever see…"

"Sides? What sides please?"

Joe just let out an annoyed sigh. "You have changed ever since you started hanging out with Manoso and his thugs…And there are plenty of people to say the same by now. Maybe I should handcuff you and get you back to the station and behind bars. It isn't a big step to go from buying drugs to kill someone."

He wasn't making sense and I wasn't sure whether he actually wanted to believe I did it. Whether the rumors, stories and all the other crap hadn't finally caught up with him and convinced him that maybe I really killed someone.

"I…. I don't believe this? So you really think I did it? Just because you have seen me on Stark buying something?" I almost yelled. This was too much. I knew what I did wasn't right, but I sure as hell wasn't here feeding an addiction. I fished a pack of pills out of my bag – which weren't what I bought, but I could hardly show him that now, could I? "I bought sleeping pills so I can actually sleep at night and not be kept awake by what turns out to be the biggest nightmare of my life!"

The pills in the plastic tub where actually tic tac's but he didn't need to know that. When Morelli looked at me dumb folded and like he was about to grab the pills from me I turned around and walked away. It wasn't as if I needed anymore reason for doing this, but my altercation with Morelli sure as hell helped me push all the ' _you shouldn't'_ thoughts to the far back of my mind.

My next stop was technically only a few blocks away, but since I couldn't be certain Morelli wasn't following me I made a few longer detours and stopped at all sort of supermarkets and other places until I was certain he'd either given up following me or found something more interesting to do.

I made my way eventually to my actual destination: an apartment of another guy I had taken back in a few weeks back. Larry Steincorn was convicted of domestic abuse and DUI. When I picked him up I also discovered he had another, rather illegal hobby. He forged IDs. That fact might have slipped my mind when bringing him in and it turned out to be a good thing.

His place wasn't hard to get into, especially when you picked up a thing or two in regards of lock picking from Ranger. Not that he actually ever taught me. No, he explained to me once that I managed to get into enough trouble without having knowledge on what he liked to call grey-areas of the law. Not sure what exactly was gray when it came to lock picking, but well…. it was Ranger.

The door was open in less than a minute and I was hoping Larry's secret was still unknown to the law.

In one of his closets I found a few show boxes and about ten minutes after entering I left again, with a handful of new IDs that resembled me and would work one way or another. I knew in order to pull off what I had planned I needed to vanish and quite possibly never appear and never be found. I knew I needed to switch who I was more than just once. Having a few IDs already handy would make these transitions easier. I also knew, once I had switched, my previous IDs wouldn't be able to be used again by me. Once I changed, so did my ID. That way I could hopefully keep people long enough off my back until they got tired of chasing.

I made a quick stop at Macy's, a supermarket and a drug store on the way back to RangeMan, getting a few essentials I would need for my travels, before stopping at the train station to get a ticket to Washington at one of the machines. The city was only two hours by train from Trenton and hopefully far enough away that people wouldn't know who I was. Not that I planned on getting to Washington. No. I'd be getting off way before. But if people tracked me through the cameras, they'd see what I purchased and would follow wrong leads. I wasn't staying where I was going anyway. A few hours tops and I'd be gone again. My plan was to move. As quickly and as far away as possible. I needed to use the time I had as a head start, before they'd come and chase me around.

Packed with food and my mere purchases from the shops I made my way to RangeMan to set my plan in motion. I ignored the feeling deep in my stomach. I knew deep down, I had to do this. My last stop before returning to RangeMan was an ATM where I maxed out my credit cards for as much as cash as I could get. I also emptied my account.

"Hey…" I said to Cal once entering RangeMan again and seeing him behind the desk. "I got us dinner," I said, holding up the bags. "I figured it was one of these days where we would just smash our faces in unhealthy contraband and … sin. After all… I don't know how much longer I can…" I said, trying to sound hopeful and upbeat.

He just nodded and I told him I meet in the Controls Room whenever he was ready. I ran up to Ranger's apartment, stored my purchases away and I packed a duffle bag. Everything I needed I put and once finished I set out to find Cal.

He had switched to monitor duty by now, being relieved by one of the new guys from the desk in reception. Seeing that RangeMan had been understaffed with four of its core team members gone in the wind and a few more out of office due to vacation and other reasons, it was quite in the building. Not a lot of people were around.

"I ran into Morelli today," I said out of the blue, surprising myself. It wasn't as if it had been much on my mind, but still. It bugged me to a certain extend.

"How did that go?" Cal asked between bites.

"Apparently he thinks by now that I did it. He was one step away from taking me in and booking me for the night," I said, leaving out the fact that he also witnessed me buying on Stark. "Do you think so too?" I asked bravely. I wasn't sure I wanted to know to be honest and I also realized that moment that Morelli not believing in me was more painful than I initially thought.

"No, never," he said without even missing a beat or waiting for me to really finish my question. Cal put his food down and grabbed my hand in a friendly gesture. "Morelli is an ass. And that he got in line with everyone else who seems to think you did it just proves how little he knows you. All of us here at RangeMan always wondered why you were with Morelli to begin with. If he didn't belittle you or order you around or try to force you into this pre-made shape of a housewife he had of you in his mind, he was just yelling for stupid reasons. And… tomorrow will prove he is goddamn wrong that he never knew you at all when he really believes you did this. You are this great, fun person who fights every single day against a dozen obstacles thrown your way and always finished with her head held high. And you will get through this the same way. Head held high, as the force you are."

His comment made me laugh for a moment.

"I…I… trust in the system. I just don't know whether that trust is returned," I said, ignoring the fact that trusting didn't mean staying. This was already hard enough without thinking about what I'd be about to do. I'd betray my friends and their trust in me and even worse, I'd be stealing. But what did people sometimes say: Extreme situations called for drastic measures. What they didn't tell you that these extreme measures required a lot of ignoring and hating yourself and your feelings.

I hated this start to finish but there was no _other_ way, at least not for now and not one that would resolve this quickly. I knew Batman would have had a whole list of things that could have been done, but well, I'm not Batman. I was never in the military, I wasn't trained to think in extreme situations and come up with a plan for infiltration or retraction. I wasn't used to any of this and I tried my best to work with what I had and could use.

Unfortunately, the first step in my plan was involving Cal. He was a good friend and had done so much for me these past few weeks. He had been my point of contact whenever I usually would have called Ranger. Since Ranger wasn't around, Cal became my go-to man. In a situation or two with one of my FTAs he even saved me from being shot. I owed him a lot and once again I had felt the biggest wave of regret and hate. _This_ was how I was going to repay him?

I swallowed down once again what I was feeling. This… was the only way I reminded myself. And unfortunately, Cal was a part of my plan that needed to be taken out – for a few hours anyway.

In retrospective things were easier then expected. And went a lot quicker and smoother too. During a moment of unawareness I drugged his Coke with the drops I got from Angus. They would knock him out cold for a few hours and apparently also make things seem blurry when he woke up again. I hated myself for doing this to Cal, but I also knew I had little choice if I wanted to get away tonight.

He took three gulps and was out ten minutes later. I sat there for a minute, watching him, debating with myself whether this all really was worth the betrayal I was about to do. But it had to. Maybe at some point in the far future I'd see them all again and we could talk about this. But for now, for this very moment, I saw no way out other than my plan.

I got up, closed the door slightly, so that no one saw Cal right away if one should pass. I doubted it, understaffing and all that. Getting on the elevator, I pressed the button for the basement, but nothing moved. I pressed it again, but still the same. The button for the floor was shortly highlighted. And then not. I pressed the button three more times, holding it pressed, nothing. And then I remembered that the button to Ranger's apartment-floor was the same unless the token was held against the panel. So I tried my luck, held the token against the panel and pressed the button for the basement once more. This time the button remained illuminated and the cabin moved.

I knew about the safe. Ranger himself actually had mentioned it a time or two. Well, he mentioned the safe, but not what was really inside. I had always figured it was stocked with weapons and other things that gave me the creeps. Surprisingly little security was in place for the safe. One would assume in a place like RangeMan that specialized in security, getting into their safe would require work and workarounds for security issues – but nada. Then again, if you made it past the front desk and down the elevator – which was the only way, seeing there were no staircases, you probably proved already very little could stop you. The token once more would work its charm and I was inside, being astonished by the shelves of neatly stacked money. There were shelves that contained weapons and ammunition, as well as shelves with papers and what looked like passports. It wasn't hard to figure out where these came from, considering a few of RangeMan worked occasionally for the government on jobs that were legally spoken in probably a dark grey zone.

I thumbed through the passports and can't even say why. I expected them to be showing me pictures of Cal and Ranger, Tank, Bobbie and other guys at RangeMan, but was surprised when I saw myself staring back at me. Apparently among the amounts of passports was one for me as well, just that my name in the Passport was Anastasia. Anastasia Diaz-Suarte. I knew Ranger liked to be prepared for all sort of scenarios, but it was slightly beyond me what he assumed could happen that required for me to disappear as well, especially seeing that one of his passports had him listed as Javier Suarte – apparently we were married. Interesting, and of course something like that needed to be found now. When I was about to disappear for real. For a moment I wondered whether I should take my fake passport with me as well. Having another ID surely couldn't hurt. But than I would give the guys a way of finding me. They'd have my name and would be able to trace my steps at least to a certain point until I'd disappear again with another ID. And who knew, maybe that partial trace would help them find me completely. Not taking any chances I put the passport back on the shelve.

I turned away from the passports and papers on the shelves and walked towards the cash. I never had seen that much cash as I was standing in front of right now. I couldn't even estimate how much money I was looking at, and maybe that was for the better.

My conscious once again kicked in, telling me I was about to steal from my friends. But I was at a point of no return. I had just managed to drug Cal, had a stack of fake IDs in my pocket and was about to become a fugitive. Sadly, stealing money from Ranger didn't seem to even make the short list in regards of how bad I had become. This wasn't me and I was certain, come tomorrow and all the details of my escape unraveled, it only helped to build a case against me and convict me even faster. But… wasn't that the whole reason why I was running to begin with? To escape a conviction for something I didn't do to start with?

Before my conscious could make a comeback and win this argument I grabbed a few stacks of money, not even looking whether it was 100 or 1 Dollar bills and was making my way towards the exit. A last minute thought made me turn around and go for the shelf which held weapons. I grabbed a gun and a few packs of bullets. I didn't plan on using them, but you never knew what kind of trouble I would encounter – specifically people coming to look for me. As I said I was a magnet for trouble and I was certain wherever my route was taking me, being prepared for the worst was always a good idea. I stuffed the gun in the back of my jeans and left the vault for good.

Back up on seven I stashed the money in the duffel bag, along with the gun which I hid in the bottom. Looking inside Ranger's closet to make sure I had everything I needed I saw his SWAT cap laying on of the top shelves. I figured with the all the money I just took from the guy one baseball cap wouldn't make things much worse. And I would have something that was dear to both of us and would remind me of better times. So I grabbed it, put it on top of my duffle and left the seventh floor. Taking the stairs to avoid unwanted camera footage and someone asking what I was doing at this hour, dressed the way I was and with a duffle bag in my hand, I made one last stop before getting to the garage and forever away. I left a note on Ranger's desk, wrapped in an envelope, begging for forgiveness and hoping to some extend that he wouldn't hate me forever. I knew he loved me – in his own way – but I was pretty certain that this love was existing anylonger the moment he came back, heard I drugged one of his guys and robbed him of quite a bit of money. Then I stopped in the control room one last time, put a pillow under Cal's head, a blanket around his body and a note on the keyboard in front of him. Contraire to Ranger's note my note to Cal was short and only read

" _I'm so sorry!"_

And then I was gone, possibly never to return to Trenton, leaving my life and my friends and family behind.

I officially was about to become a fugitive! But all my thoughts were far away from me and what I was about to do. My last thoughts before leaving Trenton were with my friends and family and begging their forgiveness one last time. Because it was all I could do at this stage.

And then I was on my way.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: In case anyone is wondering whether there is any kind of schedule in regards of my updates - there isn't one. I just made a deal with myself that I only try to post when I managed to finish another chapter ten chapters out or something. Otherwise I'll run into the problem that i would reach the end of my already written chapters and pressure myself into updating on the go. And that is when mistakes would happen..._

* * *

I parked the car a few blocks from Stark Street, a corner where I knew the car would still be come tomorrow. Finding a letter box I threw in a large stack of letters, addressed to everyone I could think of, saying goodbye to individually. I couldn't stop at everyone's place and leave a note like I did with Ranger – and Cal – so the US Postal service would have to do that job for me. I wish though I could have spoken to everyone one last time, but also feared that if I had someone might have been able to suspect something or maybe that I would even back out of my plan. And that was something I couldn't allow to happen.

I had left my cell phone at Ranger's apartment, together with everything else I knew or suspected to have trackers. My credit cards had been cut up and disposed in Ranger's trash. My actual ID had found a new home under Rex new cage, which consisted of a false bottom as I had found out.

Taking the duffle out of the car, I put on the SWAT cap, pulled up my collar of my jacket to partly protect myself from the gusty wind as well as unwanted looks and walked a block to a bus stop to get to the train station. At an hour like this traffic was slow and only few people were found outside. The few people that were outside paid little attention to everyone else and the few people on the bus even less so.

A mere ten minute ride later I was at the train station, which was deserted. I moved to the end of the platform, where there was little to no light, so cameras couldn't pick me up as easily, especially since I was dressed in black. I waited a few minutes for my train to arrive and got on, leaving Trenton and hoping that if I ever came back, it was as a free woman and not some fugitive who had been finally found and captured.

About twenty minutes into the train ride I left again. The train and my ticket were bound for Washington, but I got off in Philadelphia. In my duffle bag I had a change of clothes, a few different hats and other useful items. Every few minute and with every stop I almost assumed that someone would get on the train to tell me the ride was over and it was time for me to return to Trenton. I expected to be found – but nothing happened. Before getting of the train in Philly I changed jackets and swapped my SWAT cap for a beanie. I arranged my hair under that beanie so that it looked like I had short hair, which made me look different. I hoped that small disguise was enough to get people of my tracks until I could make actual changes.

I walked through the train station, searching for ticket vending machines. I knew the train network was my only option really. Buses were too slow. Getting on a plane would have been the quickest and easiest. With my new ID I was certain I could have easily bought a ticket to anywhere in the world, but airports also held the higher risk of being discovered, seeing that security and video surveillance was higher. So the train it was. It was slower and only got you to certain places, but I figured in the end of the day it was important that I got somewhere. People weren't really looking for me, but I figured that might change in about ten hours, when my trial would start and I'd be a no-show.

My last thought when leaving Philadelphia and therefore the East Coast was with Ranger and how I hated the feeling of me not being able to say goodbye. How I hated that I had betrayed him, his trust and the trust his men had in me. There was a part in me that wondered whether we'd ever have made that jump to someday. Whether we'd ever move past the friendship and mentor stage and get our acts together and make a move. Guess we'd never find out.

I was almost certain that when he came back he'd try finding me. It was after all what he did. Seeing RangeMan paid my bail and also that I had quite a stack of his money in my duffel bag his interest probably just grew. Ranger was one of the best at what he did and I knew it would be hard to not be found, but I had no other chance. And maybe I had picked up enough from him and his guys over the years to stay a few steps ahead.

I had managed to get rid of all the trackers, having swapped everything from my old life for new stuff. The clothes I had on me all had been bought today. I had no jewelry on my and assumed my make-up was a no-go-zone for Ranger, especially seeing that it remained mainly at my place. The few items of personal care I carried around with me – a lip balm and lipstick, some sunscreen or a small veil of perfume – all had found their new home on Ranger's kitchen counter just to make sure.

Or maybe, just maybe, I had planned too much and I was wrong and he wouldn't even come looking, assuming I wasn't worth the trouble and hours.

The irony in all this was, if I had done my job right – I'd never found out. I wouldn't know whether he would come looking. So, for my own sake, I'd decided I'd like to think I was just that good and he wasn't able to locate me. Because that fact was a lot easier for me to accept than maybe the truth – that he finally after all these years figured, I'm too much trouble.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thank you everybody for the feedback and the continious interest in my ramblings :) Just a bit of an info for y'all... the story will occasionally change POV's. It will mainly be Steph - or at a later stage Ranger's POV. But with this chapter and one or two more I also included Cal's because from all the MerryMen he is my favorite - no idea why, seeing that Janet Evanovich isn't really including him by much in the books. And in case anyone wonders, Ranger will join this story with chapter 10._

* * *

 **Cal's POV**

I felt like I was hit by a truck. Everything hurt – especially my head, which strangely enough was resting on a pillow on top of the desk in the control room. Weird.

The last thing I remembered was having dinner with Stephanie and I was one hundred percent certain that no alcohol was involved. This was no hangover – though it felt like one. My head hurt like hell, I was slightly nauseous and my memories about last night were a little fuzzy.

"I see Sleeping Beauty is finally awake again," I heard Binkie behind me snicker.

"Dude, why didn't you wake me?" I asked him accusingly at which he just shrugged.

"I figured with all of us working constantly for the past few weeks and slowly reaching our limits I let you sleep. Was a quiet night anyway and I had an eye on everything down at reception once I relieved Hanks. If something had been up I would have woken you up, no worry," he reassured me. Not that it helped.

If Ranger ever found out I'd fallen asleep while being on duty he'd have my head – at least. The odd thing was that I didn't even remember being tired. Or that I ever had fallen asleep during work. As a matter of fact I was almost certain I had a few energy drinks right before dinner. So having fallen asleep was strange to say the least.

Something felt off about this whole situation anyway. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something was definitely going on.

"Are you okay, man? You look kind of … not okay. A bit green to be honest. You are not going to get sick, are you?" I heard Binkie asking and quite honestly, I wasn't feeling so good. "What did you and Bomber do last night?" he followed with another question, probably thinking we got drunk. Not that it technically was an off thought, seeing that Steph's trial was about to start in a few hours. I guess drinking oneself into oblivion to forget about the upcoming trial was one option.

Not that either of us did, but I'm sure if we had…most people might have been very understanding.

I tried thinking about Binkie's question when I had to realize I drew a blank. I had no idea. Last thing I remembered was Stephanie telling me how got us dinner and handing me a coke a while later. And after that? Nada.

That's when I saw the card popped up against the keyboard.

 _I'm so sorry_ the note read. I had read enough of Steph's manually written reports to recognize her neat, clean handwriting right away.

And all of a sudden that off feeling was back again. And stronger than before. And the symptoms of feeling hungover all of a sudden moved into a whole new perspective.

I rolled in my chair a few monitors over and logged into the tracking system to check Steph's trackers. I hadn't made it a habit to check them regularly since I didn't see much point. She hadn't been in any form of danger lately. There was no reason really for me to go all into Ranger-mood in regards of keeping tabs and channeling that obsession. And let's face it, he was obsessed, whether he wanted to admit it or not. There were even bets in the office how much longer it would take for them to finally get their act together and see what everyone else saw – that they'd been pretty much made for each other.

"What are you doing?" Binkie asked behind me.

"Checking Steph's tracker," I answered, seeing how the page opened slowly. After a few moments it displayed the location of most of her trackers being all here.

"And?" Binkie asked, at which I rolled my eyes. He was standing behind me and could see clearly what I saw.

"They are all here," I answered.

"Why do you sound so surprised. Expected them to be someplace else?"

"No, just… all of them are here. All. They are never all of them at the same place. The main portion yes, but since she barely knew about every single one of them, or didn't care some single ones were always scattered over her place or her car or… anyplace else. Never have they ever been all at the same place at the same time. Especially seeing that two of the trackers were only made as a precaution for distractions. They are a necklace and earrings you couldn't just wear on a daily basis, especially not in this job and with Bomber's luck!"

"Meaning?" Binkie asked and slowly his questions were annoying me.

"They are diamonds…"

There was a moment of silence, before I grabbed my keys, made it to Ranger's office and grabbed the set of spare keys for his apartment on seven. He had made it clear that the keys were for emergencies and I figured this sort of was one. It wasn't as if I suspected a stalker or someone with murderous motives up in his place, but there was something odd about the whole thing and I wasn't quite sure whether things were as they seemed.

I unlocked the door with the fob and stepped into an absolutely silent apartment, which was completely dark and almost too quiet. Well, the exception was the squeaking of the wheel in which Rex was running, his cage on the top of the counter. I didn't have to walk too far for the trackers, seeing them neatly laying next to Rex' cage. All of them. The jewelry, the one from her purse and the pen, her cellphone as well as a few others even I wasn't quite aware about.

"Steph?" I called out, hoping there'd be a response. Nothing but silence. I took a deep breath and walked towards the direction which I assumed would be Ranger's bedroom. I felt anything but comfortable, seeing it almost as some sort of invasion of Stephanie's privacy if I found her sleeping there. But then again, I rather find her sleeping and dealing with all of this later than finding her not at all. Because then all hell would break loose.

I'm not sure whether I was really surprised or if some part of me hadn't even expected it, but the bedroom was empty. The bed was unused and there was no trace of anyone being here. No discarded clothes, no shoes laying around on the floor, nothing. The bathroom was the same. There was no trace of anyone ever being here.

I fished out my cell phone from the back pockets of my cargos, calling the control room. Binkie picked up on the second ring.

"What's up?"

"Meet me at Bobbie's office…" I said, imagining how Binkie's eyebrows probably shot up.

"Why?" he asked confused, probably not really seeing what I could possibly need at Bobbie's office.

"I need to do a drug test on myself…" I said, sighing, hoping I was wrong about this, but somehow also knowing the answer to that already.

The results ten minutes later spoke louder than anything – and also explained Steph's message about being sorry. I was tested positive for what is commonly known as date rape drug. Steph had knocked me out and I had never even seen it coming.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: The town mentioned in this chapter and the rest of the story is obviously made up by me. I always figured that if Steph ever needed to run away it would either be the furthest she could get or hide in plain sight. Since plain sight wasn't really an option seeing that she is a fugitive and all that the option with "furthest away" was it. Enjoy. And as always, I do appreciate feedback if you have a moment to spare._

* * *

It had been two very busy weeks since I ran and I had tried avoiding TVs and newspapers. I hadn't made the headlines of the big, national ones so far, so that was good news right?

I had chosen my trains carefully. I made sure I only picked connections that went through at least two major cities and that would leave and arrive always late at night. Getting on and off at night had the advantage that I could make the night and therefore lack of light my friend. Of course, with some big stations it was hard, seeing that they were not in the open, but rather big, closed and well-lit buildings. But there I took advantage of the sheer masses of people, disappearing in the crowds and tagging along with groups. Though, at some late nights even that was a challenge.

I had made my way from Philadelphia to a stop in the outskirts of Chicago where I'd gotten a room in a rundown motel and spent the night. During that stop I got my hair cut shorter in a nearby barbershop, matching my first forged ID. The hair didn't make as much of a difference as I had hoped, but it would do for now. You needed more than a second look. Actually taking a good, long third look to recognize me would have probably worked. From Chicago I bought a ticket to Albuquerque, but got off in Denver and went on to Salt Lake City. In Denver I dyed my hair lighter and by the time I got to Salt Lake City I decided to straighten out my curls. It was a pain to do that every morning, but it made a huge difference. When I got off the train in Las Vegas I knew I was almost at my destination.

I stocked up on a few essentials, got rid of a few other things I no longer needed and continued my journey. By the time I reached LA I was a new person - literally. I looked nothing like the Stephanie in Trenton any longer. I had bleached my hair to a somewhat natural looking blonde, cut it to shoulder length and was wearing it straight. I looked somewhat sophisticated and in a weird way so California. A look that worked with my new ID. As could be said for the name. I went by Adriana Cortez now. I was on my fourth ID, being almost certain that it was hard to track me by now, seeing I often enough had purchased tickets to places I didn't go to. I had gotten off most of my trains before the final destination. I had just one more train to take until I could take a long and much needed breathe after what felt like travelling for a month. Hard to believe it had only been a few days.

 _Pueblo del Sol_ was a small town in the outskirts of San Diego. It was only a very short distance away from the Mexican border, which meant I could if need arose just escape across the border and never be seen again – and also pretty certain never return again.

It had taken me not even a week to find a job and a place. When picking my destination I just picked it due to distance from Trenton and possible escape routes. Being here now I also realized it had a small but very important advantage as well. Due to its proximity to the Mexican border and more people here being Mexican than American not a lot of people asked a lot of questions.

I was careful what I purchased and thought before every buy carefully whether I needed what I was about to buy. I looked after my money and made sure I lived simple and didn't spent too much. In the back of my mind I knew I had the money I grabbed from Ranger's safe, but I didn't want to spent it. I never had gotten around counting it. I figured at some stage I probably had only managed to grab the 1$ bill-stacks, which mean I had maybe a few thousand dollars when times got rough.

I rented a small place by the beach. It was cheap and isolated enough that I didn't have immediate neighbors, but not too far from anything that I seemed like I wanted to shut myself off from everyone. The town consisted mainly of elderly people, who all seemed to be just too happy to welcome a new face into their town. Within a few days I had several invitations to Bingo, Boule and Scrabble-Nights.

As means of transportation I bought a bicycle, seeing the town wasn't too big and getting around by bike was easy. I figured a car would be too expensive for my life right now and also could maybe mean another way of being found. Also, a bicycle meant I couldn't get blown up. Well, not much anyway. And I guess an explosive device could easily been seen anyway.

I got a job working in housekeeping in one of the smaller hotels three days a week. I wanted to lay low and wasn't looking for much in regards of jobs. Just something I could do to earn money and not big enough to raise flags or questions. It was nothing big and important but it helped pay the rent and survive. And for now that was all that mattered.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: As mentioned before... I'll throw in a different POV occasionally for a different perspective and a view on certain situations. No worries, in this case, there are only two chapters with this POV. However when Ranger is returning, he'll get quite a bit of room for thought! I try to update a bit more regulary, especially seeing the story is so far written up to chapter 16 and then eight chapters more that aren't linked so far to the first 16 chapters :) I try... I promise_

* * *

 _Cal's POV_

At first I didn't believe it. Despite the fact that everything pointed towards it. I just didn't want to believe it, believe that Stephanie would do something like that. I figured maybe it was a case of kidnapping, that she held something important that was needed by someone else so they came and took her. But the card, saying sorry didn't fit.

And when we went through the tapes of the previous night it became clear no kidnapping had taken place. It showed Steph, showed her moving around the building and going downstairs to the vault. It showed how she came back, stacks off cash in her hand and a few moments later how she walked through the underground parking, a duffel bag in hand. And then she was gone into the night and the camera outside of the building lost her.

"What the hell?" was Binkie's first reaction and quite honestly it was mine as well. "Did she just take what looked like 200 grand from the vaults?"

"I guess so," I answered, feeling shocked.

"Why?" Binkie asked and quite honestly, why seemed to be the question of the moment. Why take money? Why drug me? Why …

"Did she come back?" I heard Binkie asking and fast-forwarded the tape. "Maybe she found a way of paying someone and the whole mess being taken care of…"

It would explain the money, but when I reached the time of just now on the tapes I realized she hadn't returned. Her car wasn't in the underground parking and bringing up the tracker, it showed the car's location a few blocks from Stark Street. Not the best of areas to leave a car – or be seen at in general.

"What's going on?" Binkie asked confused.

"I don't know. But her trackers being all here and her car being on Stark Street? Not anything good, I'd assume."

"Are we certain she drugged you?" Binkie asked, shacking the little pallet with the test results for the drug test. "Maybe the food was contaminated and someone at the restaurant was …"

"She tried from my food. And… that wouldn't explain the cash, the duffel back and where she went to last night. Or why she isn't back. Or why the quick test in regards of Rohypnol was positive."

"Maybe something happened to her, maybe she got into trouble. You know how Bomber is, trouble follows her everywhere…." Binkie said and I had to admit I envied his positivity. Stephanie wasn't the kind of person to go mental and loose it, or even to commit a crime knowingly. This wasn't like her at all. But then again she had things to deal with right now that could push everyone off over the edge.

"Let us just go through her tracker activity for the whole day and maybe we are able to get some video footage from the traffic cameras and are able to trace back her steps and see where she is…Let's also run her credit card and track any movement on her accounts. And let's run her name. Maybe we get lucky."

Binkie let out a sigh, knowing that this would take time. And patience.

Almost a week after she had left we could claim to have… nothing. We had a few small things, knew where she'd been roughly before she disappeared. The tricky thing was that she had been all over the place around Stark Street and its vicinity. She made a few stops at places that were hard for us to understand. But mainly we were talking about shops that wouldn't get us anywhere – except for knowing that she purchased essentials. So questioning people was hard since we didn't even know who to question. We were almost certain she took a train to Washington. But she didn't get off in Washington or anywhere in between – or was out of camera reach, so we had no clue where she was and what she was doing. A few people on Stark Street we found when asking around randomly whether anyone had seen her recently pointed us towards several people – but none stuck. We didn't even know whether she was still alive, which was a scary thought but unfortunately a very real possibility.

Morelli had been ass – as we'd actually expected to be honest. We figured he'd be able to help and also be glad to do so, maybe even being secretly happy she managed to escape this mess for now. But boy, were we wrong. When we contacted him he was almost exploding when being informed that Stephanie had pulled a vanishing act.

"What the fuck is she thinking? Are you for real?" he yelled into the receiver and I had to really suppress the need to roll my eyes and hang up. "How does she think that makes her look?" he asked, just to continue a moment later with more yelling and the question: "How does that make _me_ look?"

Did he seriously just ask how this made him look? She was facing charges for a crime she sure as hell didn't commit and he was worried about how her running scared was making him look? For real? I was never feeling such a need to punch him like I was feeling right now.

"You?" I finally asked curious.

"I'm supposed to be her character witness and tell the world she didn't do it and she would never be able to do such thing. But no, little Miss Innocent has to run. She might as well just put out an ad in the papers that reads 'I freaking did it?'"

"So…. I guess she hasn't contacted you then?" I finally asked, coming finally to the reason for my call. His answer was more yelling. When I had enough I interrupted his ramblings of insanity and finished the call – but not before I made one thing clear.

"And just to be clear – she didn't do it. She would never do such thing. And I sure as hell will move hell and high water to prove that point. As will anyone else here at RangeMan."

And then I hung up. It was pointless to keep that conversation going anyway. He wasn't helpful in this anyway.

So all of us worked with what little we had and knew. Binkie, who had been rather optimistic in the beginning was starting to lose hope as well and I was, as bad as it sounds, already fearing who of us had to break the news to Ranger. He sure as hell wouldn't take these news well and maybe there was a possibility of someone losing his or her job – namely probably me.

The fact that Stephanie Plum had managed to disappear without a trace was scary and impressive as hell. There was a part in me that understood her completely, that understood her motivation and hoped that she was safe and happy wherever she managed to escape to.

The downside of not finding her of course was us not knowing whether she was happy and safe indeed. Apparently she picked up more than just a few things in regards of skip tracing from us. For a moment I wasn't even sure whether to be annoyed or just proud.

Maybe a bit of both.

She had learned too much from us about all of this. We always were happy to let her be part of our illustrious world of skip-tracing and how to probably make the best escape. None of us ever thought she'd need to use it one day herself to get away from something and that we would be helplessly trying to keep up with her vanishing act. I just hoped that she knew what she was doing and that wherever she was she was happy and safe. For the moment that was the best I could hope for and maybe with time, we would find her. Hopefully before the boss returned.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: And we are back to Steph's POV. And those who anxiously are waiting for Ranger's return... no worries. Next chapter is all his!  
_ _Also, I'd like to mention for a part in this chapter, MTV's Catfish is my guilty pleasure. LOL  
_

 _Hope you enjoy... As always, feedback is much appreciated._

* * *

The first month was the hardest. I wasn't naïve and expected to just run and not miss home. But I reached a stage where almost everything reminded me somehow about Trenton and the things and people I had left behind.

At night I spent a lot of time laying restless in my bed, pushing blankets and duvets and trying to fall asleep, just to wake up a short time later after having dreamt of home.

The worst nights were those when I dreamed about Ranger – which I found odd. During all of his missions, which at some point could last months, I had never really dreamed about him, despite the fact that he wasn't nearby and I had somewhat missed him. Now, thousand miles away from Trenton, I all of a sudden felt love sick. Maybe it was the realization that I might never see him again, but then again, whenever he went on a mission, that possibility was very much an option as well.

The moment word got out that there was a new girl in town I got flooded with invitations and social activities. Apparently almost everyone in town seemed to have a son, nephew or grandson they wanted me to meet. Surprisingly – or not – all of them were single. Guess you could escape the Burg, but not its mentality. My mother would feel right at home.

The first month was also when I felt the constant need to watch my steps and got paranoid. I expected around every corner a Police officers, finally having tracked me down and taking me back to Trenton. When the days dragged on, and days turned into weeks and finally a month and nothing happened – others than locals probably thinking I lost my mind – I started to relax. Of course there was no guarantee that there wouldn't come a day when I was finally found. But… it wasn't today, or tomorrow – or so I hoped.

Since I was only working part time I had plenty of time on my hands. I was shocked to realize I actually enjoyed sports during my time off. I took my bicycle pretty much everywhere and only on rainy days depended on public transport. Living on a beach, I decided to make the best of it and took turns between swimming and learning to surf. Sure, Southern California wasn't Hawaii – or so I was being told constantly – but for someone who had no idea about surfing to begin with, I thought it was doing quite ok. But then again, I hadn't had time for trying out surfing the one time I actually had been in Hawaii.

I sure as hell wouldn't turn into some beach babe slash surfer dudette but I liked the somewhat solitude of the ocean, especially during the early mornings. Soon enough I had a reputation of an early riser and a sports fanatic – two things no one back in Trenton would have ever associated with me. I spent the early morning hours almost by myself at the beach and in the water before it was time to head to work on the few odd days I actually did work.

When I wasn't working my actual part time job as a housekeeper I walked my neighbors and people living in the area's dogs. It had been something I more or less had stumbled into to be honest. And it sure as hell wasn't meant as another sort of job. But one of my closer neighbors – if that's what you wanted to call a guy living maybe half a mile away from you – got admitted to hospital one night and I decided taking care of his dog. When he returned that didn't change – at least in regards of walking him. And soon enough more people joined in asking whether I could look after their pets as well while they were at work or being busy with life. They all insisted to pay me – and quite generously if I may add.

The sports, my bicycle and also my both jobs all together were probably to blame that I lost weight rapidly. I never considered myself to be in need for losing weight, but becoming fitter surely wasn't a bad side effect. On some days when I walked past mirrors or mirroring windows of the shops I had to think about Ranger and how he'd probably shake his head in disbelief if he could see me now. Seeing he had tried to get me into sports for all the time I knew him, he never actually succeeded.

I had created a fake Facebook profile, just in case someone was digging a bit. It wasn't foolproof, but would withstand inspection. It listed my name, the place I lived and a few schools I went to that I had googled all over the country. My parents were in the military which explained my constant change of schools and States. There were no actual pictures of me, just a few artsy ones, mirrored sunglasses that reflected a picture of the setting sun over the ocean was my profile picture and a few others were thrown into the mix.

I created a few more fake profiles as my 'friends', to make it look somewhat legit. Apparently there was the idea that if you had not a large number of Facebook friends, you didn't exist. Thank you, MTV's Catfish!

"You know, Adriana, I could offer you a job in something a bit more exciting than housekeeping," Oksana, my boss approached me one day. And to be honest, I was expecting this sooner or later. Housekeeping wasn't necessarily a job that required any smarts. It was the same day in, day out and I might have proven once or twice during my job that I had the smarts to do more. But the thing is, I didn't want to. I actually quite enjoyed housekeeping. If my mother could see me now….

"I…. um… that really nice, but I'm ok…." I answered, letting her down politely. One of the advantages off working housekeeping was that no one ever noticed you.

"Are you sure? I mean… you seem able to do a lot more diverse than that…." Oksana asked skeptical. She was a good woman and very fair, always looking after her guests and her employees. But she had a hard time with 'no'.

"Um, yes. I like my job and… no contact with complaining guests…" I lied, assuming my best way of reasoning was that the contact with people was a major turnoff for me. Which it kind of was.

"Well, I'm sure I could find something that would have no contact as well. Maybe something administrative? You seem quite good with numbers. Or marketing?"

The good thing about working for a small hotel was that everything was done inhouse and the ways of communication were short.

"Um…. no, I'm good, really…." I insisted, but saw it was not successful.

"How about trying out a few things. If they are not your thing, you can always come back to housekeeping…"

Oksana was about my mother's age but had a lot better maternal instincts and feelings to be honest. She was less like a boss and more like a mother for everyone at the hotel. From talking with my colleagues I knew that once Oksana had an idea and was keen on delivering, you had no way of talking your way out of it. If she wanted something, she usually got it.

"I'll even throw in a payrise…." She baited and I laughed. She knew fairly well that I only worked here part-time and knew what I earned, seeing she signed my paychecks. She knew there was no way for me to survive on my part-time salary if I depended on it. So offering me an increase in pay was fruitless as argument.

"Look, I appreciate the offer. I really do, but I'm happy where I am…" I said, grabbing what I needed for the next floor and started my way towards the elevator to get one floor up.

"One day, Adriana Cortez, you'll have to tell me your secret!" she shouted laughing after me at which I shook my head, but laughing as well. One day, would hopefully never come.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Thanks to everyone for the continious interest and support in this story. It is much appreciated. So here it is, the long awaited Ranger POV chapter_

* * *

 _Four weeks after Stephanie's disappearance_

 _ **Ranger's POV**_

I had just landed in DC and was not really looking forward to my two day briefing that was mandatory after missions. The last three months seemed like they had gone on forever. But they were over now, finally, and that was all that was important for now. Two more days wouldn't matter really, since home was just one stop away now and not several long-haul flight halfway across the globe.

And for the first time I was feeling my age and found myself wondering whether I'd become too old for these missions. There comes a point when you are no longer helping your country, but are a liability to your country. It was crucial to realize when that moment came and to admit age had finally caught up with you.

"Yo, Manoso. Got a couple of calls from your guys in Trenton, asking to get back to them when you had the chance," my handler greeted me once I had left the aircraft and was moving across the runway. He handed me a bag with my personal belongings as was customary.

"Did they say anything?" I asked, curious. They wouldn't usually call casually and knew I was hard to reach at times. So them calling set alarm bells off in my head.

"No. And they haven't really called back since I spoke to them a few weeks back. Guess whatever it was it got resolved," Jonathan said, shrugging. Probably not caring one way or the other.

Getting into the SUV that would get me back to civilization I got my cellphone from the bag Jonathan had handed me and called Trenton.

I just wanted to make sure that why ever they had called really was resolved.

"RangeMan control room," I heard Zero's voice.

"It's Ranger. I'm back online and stateside. Will take me a few more days to get back to Trenton. Everything alright on your end?"

"Sure…" Zero said after short hesitation. I wasn't sure whether he was just surprised to hear me since my mission was set to last a few more weeks initially. "Welcome home, boss."

"Everything ok at RangeMan? Any problems while I was gone?"

"Nope, all great."

"And Stephanie?"

The silence that followed had me concerned. Babe was a trouble magnet. She didn't mean to, but trouble and mayhem always found her.

"Zero?" I prompted when there was still silence after a few moments.

"Look, I … let me put you through to Tank, man…"

That was odd, to say the least and all of a sudden I was expecting the worse.

"Ranger," Tank said the moment he got on the line.

"What is going on, Tank?" I asked, hoping I wouldn't hear she was dead.

"Nothing. Everything is as it is supposed to be," I heard my second in command answer. Something was off about the way he said it, something in his voice…

"What about Stephanie?" I asked, irritated that Zero felt the need to put me through to Tank.

"What about her?" Tank asked back.

"When I asked Zero about her he became all quiet and put me through to you…"

"Steph is… well, you know Bomber. Trouble that doesn't find her doesn't exist. She is… good. Just the usual mayhem. Not much has changed… I'd advise you to get through that briefing quickly and get your ass back to Trenton, though…" and then he hung up. Which was odd, seeing that I was usually the one deciding when a conversation had come to an end.

Two days of briefing drag on forever and by the time I had been officially released from my mission and was on my way back I was certain something was going on in Trenton. I had tried calling Stephanie once only to hear a female voice telling me the number was no longer in service. I figured her cell phone had suffered the same fate most of her cars ended up with but when asking Tank he was anything but confirming my thoughts.

"What's going on?" I asked when I made my way into his office back at RangeMan, dumping my duffle bag by the door.

"Good to have you back, Ric," he said as greeting. "You… might want to sit down for what I'm about to tell you."

He looked at me serious, so I followed his suggestion and sat down in the chair opposite of him.

"Bomber is gone," he said, throwing a file at me which showed Stephanie once opened.

"What do you mean she is gone?" I asked irritated, looking at the file and wondering why there was a file on my Babe and why the hell it was as thick as a novel.

"About four weeks ago she left and hasn't been seen since. She… got into a bit of a situation and… well, she probably didn't see any other way than running."

"What did she get herself into?" I asked, assuming I'd get an answer quicker than when reading the file. The thing is Stephanie had always somehow managed to get into _situations_ and trouble, but she also always found a way out of them. She wasn't a runner, and she sure as hell wasn't a quitter either.

"Before I'll get into this, I need to let you know Bobby, Lester and me had been in the north of Canada and Alaska, apprehending an FTA RangeMan had been after for months. We were out of reception for cell phones so I only learned about all of this two weeks after she was already gone…"

I nodded at Tank, knowing about which FTA he was talking about. An FTA that brought us a neat sum of almost a million and who we had spent months tracking down. I certainly didn't blame him for doing his job.

"What happened?" I repeated myself.

"Barnhardt was found dead in some back alley. Stabbed and somewhat disfigured. After a few weeks of investigation Stephanie was the prime suspect…"

I didn't like how this already started and sounded.

"She didn't have an alibi, the trackers had been down for the time frame of the murder and prosecution decided her motive was Steph's general dislike for Joyce and the fact that Joyce had screwed her husband way back. Witnesses placed her at Barnhardt's house, leaving angry and her fingerprints on the murder weapon, which was honestly enough reason for anyone. In the pre-hearing to her trial she was released on bail which Cal put up. Half a million…."

"Remind me to thank Cal later…" I said, seeing Tank nod and smile at me.

"He brought her to RangeMan. The night before the trial she… drugged Cal, knocked him out with what I'd assume are illegally obtained drugs, went for the safe in the basement and took about two-hundred-fifty grand with her. Cal was found the next morning by Binkie, not remembering a thing and tested himself with one of Bobby's self-testing things. Apparently she had mixed his drink with a date rape drug…"

"What? Where would she even get something like that?"

"The guys went through the tracker data of the day and she made a stop on Stark Street. You know it yourself, with the right amount of cash there isn't anything you can't get on Stark Street. The guys have also been going through every possible scenario and came up empty handed. She left all her trackers in your apartment, alongside her cell. She emptied out her account, maxed out her credit card and hasn't shown up since. We know or rather assume she took the late night train to Washington, but we can't be sure whether she ever got there. We lost her trace pretty much at the train station…She could have gotten off anywhere in between. We spoke to family and friends, no one knows anything. They all received letters though. And we assume the envelope popped up against the keyboard in your office contains yours. All we know is in that file…"

I just nodded, digesting the information Tank had just laid out for me. Somehow this wasn't the sort of welcome I had expected when making it back form that god-awful mission I had spent doing for way too long.

"Why didn't you tell me any of that when I called two days ago?" I asked accusing, making sense of Zero's weird behavior all of a sudden.

Before answering Tank looked at me doubtfully.

"Because you were in your post-briefing. We both have been in enough of these goddamn briefings to know they are mandatory and there is no way out or around them. Telling you about Bomber's situation back then wouldn't have been doing anything. Yes, you would have known sooner, but you wouldn't have been able to do anything. And the last thing I need is the DoD or the DoJ up my ass cause you decided on skipping the briefing and taking a hike, trying to find Stephanie by yourself. Two days more or less wouldn't have made a difference."

Given Tank had a point, I still didn't like it.

"Anything else I need to know?" I finally asked after a moment of silence.

Tank shook his head, answering my question in regards of business. Good, his answer meant I could concentrate of getting Babe home, because right now, that was my priority. As a matter of fact it was my sole priority.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Sorry for the rather long wait between chapter updates. My life got the better of me and my motivation for writting was a bit low - though i managed to finish another chapter in the ones that are missing. So, not all hope is lost._

* * *

I put the file from Tank on my desk, seeing the envelope against my keyboard a moment later. Tank had mentioned it when telling me about Stephanie. I assumed this was her last word to me. Her goodbye. I wasn't sure whether I should feel special for not getting it delivered by post but rather by person. I sat down, looking at it, debating whether to open it or not. It wasn't as if I didn't want to, I just wasn't sure what I would find written and everyone knew I hated the uncertain. But with Stephanie everything was sort of uncertain. It was like losing control of everything. Though that was partly because of her ways and partly due to the mayhem and chaos that tended to find her.

Reaching for it, I ripped the envelope open, taking out the neatly folded two pages.

 _Ranger –_

 _When you are reading this I'll be already long gone. I don't know how much time will have passed between today – when I'm leaving – and the day you are returning back home from your mission, saving the world once more. I'm sorry I can't be there in person, welcoming you back home but… things have happened and I need to go. Apparently there is trouble I can't get myself out of after all. I'm sorry I chose the cowardly way of simply running away but I don't see any other way. I tried listening to everyone I know, my parents, friends, you guys – well at least the ones still around – and Joe, Eddie and Carl, who all said I should trust in the system._

 _I'm sorry that I found myself at the end of my faith and trust. And I'm sorry that I end up being a disappointment like everyone else has probably always assumed I would. I never managed to see things through til the end – until now. And isn't that ironic?_

 _I'm sorry that I end up being the failure everyone always thought I'd be and end up being. Guess my mother was right after all._

 _I'm sorry what I did to Cal. I… I really didn't mean to. But I knew he had the power to change my mind and that was the last thing I needed. It was one of the hardest things I ever did. The same goes for the money. I never stole and I never wanted to steal, especially not from friends. I will promise to somehow find a way of paying you back. Every cent. Even for the bail Cal posted to keep me out of prison._

 _I'm sorry things have to end this way, but I guess it is full circle. We met with me needing your help. And now we part, with me needing your help – or money – one last time. I guess I'm someone else's responsibility from now own. I guess I'm actually responsible for myself now. Without a knight in shining armor (or cargoes) and on a white horse (or an array of Porsches) coming to my rescue. You always said you are no hero, but truth is, you are. If no one else's, you are my hero. You have saved me often enough for all sort of things:_

 _Eviction – by giving me a job to make rent_

 _Bad guys – by giving me protection_

 _Really bad guys – by giving me (involuntarily) shelter_

 _Big Blue – by giving me cars_

 _Myself – by giving me your friendship_

 _So you see… you are more than qualified to be a hero. Maybe a bit tainted and haunted, but nobody's perfect anyway._

 _I love you. In so many ways. I wish things between us would have ended differently. I wish they would have had a happy end. There are so many things I wish I actually could say to you, in person and not in a letter, even more things I regret not saying, but… I can't change that now, can I?_

 _Thank you for everything. For your time, resources, friendship and most importantly your unshakable faith and encouragement. Of all the people in my life you are probably the only one who always thought I could do better and was good at something._

 _I'm sorry that I'll need to break that trust and friendship by not only stealing money but also drugging your guys._

 _For all that matters, I'm really grateful for everything you have done for me over the years, And I mean everything. I love you, and I have for a long time, long before I finally kicked Morelli to the curb._

 _I'm sorry for everything…._

 _As a last favor, please don't waste your time, resources and guys on me. Don't try to find me, please. I know it is in your nature to go and find me, but please, let me go and don't try finding me. It is better that way._

 _Stephanie_

By the wrinkles in the paper I assumed that Stephanie had not only shed a single tear or two while writing this. And that broke my heart. Apparently in her last hours she was all by herself, and feeling like the option she chose made her the failure people around her kept telling her that she was. I might not have liked her running away but I understood. It was a natural reaction on instinct. She was backed in a corner and saw no other way out other than running away and hiding. And apparently she did well, better than probably most people.

The fact that she had conquered into a world rather unknown to her and ended up being friends with my men, who were equally impressed with her skills, never registered with her. Only few people managed to impress me and my men. For that we had seen already way too much in our lives to be impressed. I admit when I first introduced her to Bobby and Tank while on a redecoration job, I wanted to see how far I could push her buttons. Tank and Bobby – and to be honest all the rest of RangeMan really – were guys that looked scary and probably were scary as well. They were big and looked dangerous. There was a reason people usually assumed we were only a bunch of thugs after all. But leave it to Stephanie to hold her head high and not let any of that judge her opinion of anything.

I might not have approved of her methods – especially drugging one of my men – but I wasn't angry. I knew she was acting on pure survival instinct. For all I cared she could have taken all the money there was if it meant she was safe and taken care of. As a matter of fact it wasn't even that much she took. The safe easily held a few millions at any given time. So her just grabbing a few hands full of money was surprising. But I guess that was purely Stephanie. Even in illegal activity she showed a certain level of modesty. She took what she assumed she needed for a fresh start – not more, not less. And you had to admire her for that.


	12. Chapter 12

Ranger's POV

I was a person of routine. I usually got up at the same time, worked out the same way every day, had a similar breakfast that supported my work-out routine and was usually with everything else the same. The military taught you that. I wasn't a control freak and it wasn't as if I'd start getting sweaty palms if my routine wasn't followed – which was hard to accomplish anyway seeing the business I was in.

Stephanie's letter soon would find its way into my routine. I was reading the letter almost every day, hoping to find something that would help me find her. Of course it was a ridiculous thought seeing that by now I was actually able to recite that damn letter in my sleep. But I knew I was missing something. Maybe not in the letter, but somewhere. I wasn't sure what it was, I wasn't even sure what I was looking for exactly, but I knew the feeling deep down in my gut, that told me that I was missing something. It had been almost two months since Stephanie took off. Almost a month since I had been back and nothing new had come up.

The file Tank and Cal and probably everyone else had put together lay scattered all over my desk together with a map of the railway network in North America. I wasn't expecting to all of a sudden find her in the maps of sheer endless possibilities, but there was something almost calming when looking at the tracks and where they could go.

I looked at single pages laying askew on my desk when I realized the file was missing something.

A moment later there was a knock on my door, and before I could say "enter" the door already was opened and Tank stood in the door.

"Yes?" I asked, annoyed about the interruption.

"A situation has come up that would require your… attention," Tank said, making me raise my eyebrows.

"What situation?"

"In the conference room. Mrs. …um…. Mrs. Plum is looking for you. She wants to talk to you and doesn't seem to take no very well."

"She wants to talk? About what?" And maybe that was a stupid question. I was almost certain I know what she wanted to talk about. The possibilities weren't that many.

I let out a sigh. This week wasn't getting any better. I had to admit I was a bit surprised it had taken her that long to come and see me. I figured if she'd come here, it would have been a lot sooner. But I got up.

Walking past Tank on the way out I stopped and turned towards him.

"Do me a favor and call TPD. Morelli or Eddie. Ask whether they can sent the autopsy report of Joyce' Barnardt's death."

I saw Tank look at me for a moment, surprised and also slightly confused. "Why do you wanna see the report? You think you'll find Bomber by going through the post mortem autopsy of Barnhardt?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I just… there isn't much more I can look at. I sure as hell am not expecting something that will tell me "Find me here" but… I have this feeling I'm missing something…"

"You sure you are not mistaking that feeling with that of grasping straws, Ric?" Tank asked serious and he had a point. We had come to a point in the investigation where we weren't moving forwards at all. But how did they say, Hope dies last.

I just nodded and walk on, towards the conference room, where I saw Helen already seated at the large, glass conference table.

"Mrs. Plum," I said, sitting down opposite of her. "What can I do for you?"

She looked at me for a moment, looking as if she was thinking about whether I really was to answer to whatever question she was having.

"I want you to find my daughter," Helen said, looking straight at me.

"Why?" I asked, almost knowing she'd raise her eyebrows at my question. I assumed she wasn't expecting that question for me.

Looking taken aback by my question she took a moment to answer, looking irritated.

"Because you are the best at finding people. Or at least so I heard from others and also my daughter herself back when she was thinking this… this job was something she needed to do."

I leaned back in my chair, studying Helen Plum for a moment. "First of all, that's incorrect," I answered, seeing Mrs. Plum's features move into confusion once more. "The best person at finding someone is your daughter herself. She has instincts that are unmatched. And second of all, is she really your daughter?"

Helen Plum looked shocked at me. I could see her thinking about all the possible ways my question could imply. "What nonsense are you talking about? Of course Stephanie is my daughter. I gave birth to her. I would know if that wasn't my daughter…." Her answer came fast and sounded almost outraged.

"Just because you give birth to them doesn't make you their mother automatically. And the way you have been with her for years wouldn't suggest mother to be honest. Stephanie is a good person, a kind one as well and you gave her the constant feeling of never being good enough. For anything. Like she was a failure. For you, the only thing she could do right was marry some guy she didn't even love and give you grandchildren. Have you even told her you loved her in the past years?"

"No," she said quickly, surprising me. "Have you?" was her counter-question. I had to admit that had hurt. Mainly because it was the truth. I do love her, and told her so, but usually was that declaration followed with a string of qualifiers are a lot of but's.

"Mr. Manoso, I'm not going to sit her, pretending I'm going to win mother of the year anytime soon. I might have made some mistakes, but let's be honest here and admit we all did. I just want her back, or at least know she is ok and healthy and safe. It's been almost two months. The police seemed to … well, to be honest I don't know what they are doing about her, but they surely aren't looking for her to proof her innocence," she said, sounding annoyed. "I… I just want her back. Or of not that, than at least know that she is ok and doing fine. Now is this something you can do or am I wasting my time?" she asked, surprising me once again with her straight-forward approach. I never figured Helen Plum to be that brazen to be honest.

And wasn't her question the question of us all? Truth was… we were as far in finding Stephanie as we had been weeks ago. So maybe…. I wasn't the right man for the job after all.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Probably my quickest update lately! :) But i made some good progress on future chapters and i have a good headstart still between chapters I post and future chapters that are written._

 _For a while i was considering writting an second version inspired by a review from aruvqan, who mentioned it would be quite a nice change for them to have a criminal ending. I am actually still thinking about that option but right now seem to have difficulties at which chapter I would start with an alternative version. If it gets written, I'll give aruvqan the credit :) I assume it would get written after the actual story is finsihed and posted. I wouldn't have time for that beforehand anyway :)_

 _Also... I've put up a poll on my profile in regards of a chapter close to the end of the story (which has not been written yet) and whether people would be interested in a chapter of seeing Morelli having to deal with the fact that she is innocent._

 _Anyway... Enjoy!_

* * *

I wasn't really a fan of the idea of calling Morelli, but it might speed a few things up. I wasn't entirely sure how much I should or shouldn't tell him. I didn't like him before Stephanie's disappearance and was always wondering what she saw in him. All he did was belittle her and tell her she was crap at what she did. From what Cal had told me that opinion surely hadn't changed now. I had avoided calling him until now, but well… we hit another dead end. I knew Cal and Lester, as well as Bobby had spoken to him previously on several occasions in regards of the case against and Stephanie and also her disappearance, but it had been fruitless. I also knew his reaction to their calls – which irritated me in regards of what my men had told me about them.

"Yeah," I heard him after three rings.

"What do you know about Joyce Barnardt's case?" I asked, skipping all pleasantries. What was the point?

"Manoso?" Morelli asked, sounding slightly confused.

"Yes, now. Barnardt's case?" I prompted.

"Ever heard of phone etiquette?" Morelli asked and I was about to roll my eyes.

"Why? Last time I checked this isn't Victorian's London and you ain't the Queen of England. What's the point in asking how you are doing or how your day was? We ain't tight or close, so… why ask and waste both our times?" See… not a fan of calling him.

There was silence for a moment and I wasn't certain whether he hadn't just hung up on me, when I heard him speaking all of a sudden.

"Not much I can tell you. What's your interest in that one?" he asked and maybe this time I should roll my eyes.

"What do you think?"

"Look, Ranger, as a guy who has dated Stephanie I know it is hard letting go, but ….

"I didn't call for therapeutic advice, Morelli…."

"She died. Stephanie was the prime suspect. That's all. Case closed."

"That's all? Just like that?"

"Look man, I wasn't on the case, it wasn't my business."

"She's your girlfriend. I'd expect you'd be more invested proving her innocence." Technically, from the stories Bobby, Cal, Lester and Tank had told me I was almost certain they weren't dating anymore, but I wanted to see how far I could push him.

"Well, how about the idea that she isn't innocent?" he asked and I was honestly taken aback.

"Are you saying you think she might have done it?" I asked in disbelief. What the hell? That guy had been dating Stephanie and was now telling me he thought she might have been capable of committing a murder?

"Not at first. I mean, we are talking about Stephanie. She doesn't even know how to fire a weapon. But… don't you think it is a bit too convenient that her tracker – the ones you are so fond of, that you know everything at all times and can swoon in to make her day better – happen to be offline for the hours the murder supposedly took place? She had no alibi and plenty of anger. Enough people heard her earlier that day telling Barnardt that at some point Stephanie might kill her…"

"That's your reasoning, Morelli? Hear-say about something everyone knew anyway. Let's admit this, Joyce Barnardt was a pain in your ass. Probably half of Trenton had reason to off her eventually."

"I didn't want to believe it either, but I've been doing this job long enough to have seen it all. And what does everyone say about serial killers?" he asked, stopping before continuing in a high-pitched voice that I assume was supposed to be an elderly lady. "He was such a nice guy. I would never have thought that…"

He might have had a small point there, but still…

"And in regards of knowing and dating her. I never thought I'd see Stephanie Plum scoring on Stark and yet that's what she did a day before her trial."

"What are you talking about?" I asked irritated and debated with myself already why the hell I didn't just hang up.

"She was buying drugs from a dealer, Manoso. She tried telling me something about sleeping pills to help her sleep at night, but what I saw sure as hell weren't sleeping pills."

"Who was the dealer?" I asked. None of this made it into the reports I had read so far. But then again Morelli wasn't always the most forthcoming person. And the Rohypnol had to come from somewhere.

"Angus," Morelli said, sounding as irritated as I felt. "Deals in everything you can buy if you have the necessary cash to buy."

I took note of the name. Before I could hang up however I heard Morelli speaking once more.

"Piece of advice, Manoso. Get that head out of your ass and move on. She is gone and we'll never know whether she did or didn't do it."

"Piece of advice from me, Morelli. Go, fuck yourself…." I said, hanging up, wondering why the hell I had thought that would go over well.

I wasn't so sure whether calling Eddie would go over any smoother. Sure, he and Stephanie went a long way back but when Eddie had a similar mindset as Morelli I'd probably commit a murder myself.

"Yes?" came Eddie's voice with the third ring.

"It's Ranger," I said, figuring we had only spoken a handful of time.

"Any chance you had anything to do with why Morelli just had a hissy fit?"

"Probably," I only said, hearing the other man snicker on the other side of the phone. "What's your stand on the charges against Stephanie?"

"She didn't do it," he almost yelled, sounding as if he wondered why I even would ask such a question.

"Anything you can tell me about the investigation?"

"Are we talking on or off the books?" Eddie asked. Smart. I guess that's why he and Steph worked so well as friends.

"Anything really."

"Well, not much in all fairness. There wasn't much to begin with. It was a straight-forward case."

"I thought you said she didn't do it."

"Look, Ranger. There is a difference between knowing someone didn't do it and evidence that actually speaks quite a loud message. I'm not saying she did it, but the evidence against her is enough for most people to judge her on. And we are talking about strong, incriminating evidence. With a bit more time maybe something else would have turned up, but for the guy who investigated, it was enough to make his case."

"Anything you can tell me about the cop whose case it was?"

"Caffrey? Not much either. He is an average kind of guy. New to Trenton, transferred from Philadelphia I think, so there isn't much I could tell you. Keeps to himself. I think he has a girlfriend, but only mentioned her a time or two. Why?"

"Is there _anything_ you can tell me?"

"Honestly? Not really. He hardly discussed the case with any of us. Did all his investigating by himself, all his research as well. Brought all the samples in himself as far as I know. It was a bit weird, since usually there are people for that. But I heard he is kind of thorough and that he once had a case dismissed in court because of contaminated evidence or something like that - so maybe that explains it. But for what it's worth… the case was almost too perfect"

"What do you mean?" I asked curious.

I heard Eddy sigh and a moment later he answered. "Look… we both know that Steph isn't dumb or stupid. She hadn't really inherited a lucky streak or anything, but she was smart."

"I surly ain't gonna argue that point, Eddy," I said, wondered where he was going with this.

"So, when was the last time you read about a case with a smart criminal where the murder weapon with prints on them was conveniently located in proximity to the scene? And all these witnessed that had the same story? As well as the fact that your trackers happen to offline the exact hour the murder occurred? If this was a TV show… it was too predictable."

I got where he was coming from. The pieces of Joyce' murder fit perfectly and all seemed to come together quickly.

"Thanks…"

"For what? It isn't like I actually gave you any news. Look… I know you are looking for Steph and from your questions I assume you are looking into that case. Just promise me you'll get our girl back home to us…."

"I try my best," I said, almost resigning. The thing was, we hadn't managed to track Stephanie down in three months. So I had little hope we would change that in the immediate future. But maybe getting her home wasn't the answer to this. Maybe getting her name cleared was the beginning and the rest would come and fall into place.

I got up and stopped by Tank's office.

"We need to go to Stark Street and talk to that dealer Stephanie saw the day before…" I informed him. He only nodded and got up.

"You know who it is?" Tank asked surprised. "When we started looking into this we had tried finding the guy a few times but no one knew anything and we hit a dead end." I wasn't expecting much out of the meeting but maybe… you never knew.

"Morelli mentioned a name. Guy's called Angus…"

"Why didn't he mention that god damn name earlier?" Tank asked irritated and I just shrugged.

"Don't ask. Not sure whether it was in order to save his own ass, or help Babe's case. Anything really could have been his motive."

And off we were…


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Words don't even express how sorry I am for the exceptionally long wait for you guys until i updated again. A series of unrelated events made it impossible for me to post sooner unfortunatelly - or to get on to writting more so that I can finally connecxt the already written next chapters with the end. But it will happen :) As for now, enjoy, I hope the long wait was worth the update, because... ohhh the plot twist!_

* * *

Finding Angus was surprisingly easy. But then again, if you had a name and looked angry enough few people would try going against you.

"Yo, you Angus?" I asked, when Tank and I were approaching him. He looked at us, raised an eyebrow and asked "Who wants to know?"

"You know a woman named Stephanie Plum?" Tank asked and I saw Angus think for a moment. But it didn't look like he was thinking whether he knew her. No, he looked like he was thinking why we would want to know and whether he should tell us.

"No idea what you are talking about. Don't know such name…."

Great start already.

"You're Manoso, right?" he asked and I nodded. "Everyone knows you down here on Stark. You're the guy they say you shouldn't fuck with or else. She fucked with you and no you wanna find her, fuck her up?" he asked and I felt the urge to roll my eyes. Sometimes these stories that were floating around Stark Street when it came to my reputation were helping me a lot in regards of my job and getting information. It helped when people feared you – despite the fact that you didn't really do much for them to be feared. Unless of course you were the scum me and my men were occasionally after – but that was a different story.

"We are not," I heard Tank say next to me while I was still thinking about Angus' implication.

"Than what's your interest in her?"

"My interest is finding her," I informed him at which he laughed.

"Join the queue, bro. Half of Jersey seems to think they need to find her. And have they yet? No. Because pretty girl is smart. Smarter than all da dumbasses after her…"

So he knew here for sure. The fact that he called her pretty girl didn't go unnoticed either. They probably had some kind of history.

"You sold her the Rohypnol?" Tank asked at which Angus looked at him unimpressed.

"I didn't do nothing like that. I'm an honest and hard-working man…"

"Look, cut the crap. I know you did and quite honestly I don't care. In a way I think if you hadn't and she hadn't escaped she'd be in a lot worse trouble now than she actually is."

"You ain't cops…" he determined and it wasn't a question really. More like an observation.

"Do we look like cops?" Tank asked.

There was silence that dragged on for what felt like forever. I finally let out a sigh I had been holding inside since this conversation started. "You read the papers, right?" I asked and saw Angus nod.

"So you know she is wanted for murder…." I went on and was interrupted when Angus' thought he finally had a clue.

"Ah, so they asked you to find her, get her back to the system…." He concluded at which I was feeling an urge to roll my eyes.

"No. I want to find her and make sure she doesn't go into any system. Or is found by someone else…."

"Why?" Angus asked and this conversation was tiring. If he could just give me that goddamn information I could leave and be way more productive. But hitting him, I figured, wouldn't really help me.

"Make sure no one else finds her? You wanna kill her? Man that's cold. Sure as hell won't help you now. No one kills pretty girl. Not on my watch."

"I won't kill her," I was saying almost through gritted teeth. This topic and the idea anyway would do that to Steph made me feel incredible uncomfortable to be honest.

"Than what do you wanna do and why you wanna find her?" he asked confused and irritated. Join the freaking club! And then an idea must have struck. "Wait….." he said, holding up his hand and looking at me curious. "She your woman?" he finally asked and I nodded, figuring this would get me somewhere quicker. Plus, I planned on making her my woman the moment I found her.

"Shit, man, I…. I didn't know. But, look… I might or might not have sold her that stuff, but she's cool. A good girl. Even when she busted me once or twice. I get it, it's her job. Pretty girl gotta eat. She ain't no bad person…Even if that stupid cop thought otherwise…"

"What cop?" I asked surprised.

"Dunno. Tall, dark hair, yelling a lot. Dude's got an aggression problem if you askin' me. But as I said, pretty girl is smarter than all the dumbasses. Was told by someone who was close to them she shoved a pack of tic tac's in his face, stating she bought sleeping pills for herself and then took off. Dude's stupid enough to accuse her of killing that lady and that he should arrest her. Ain't that dumb? You don't go around announce you'll arrest someone, you just do it. Otherwise they'll run away cause they know what you'll do."

Angus shook his head several times as if he didn't believe someone was that stupid. Yeah, join the club.

"You don't know where she went after that, do you?" Tank asked and Angus shrugged, pointing roughly in a direction. Not helping really.

He looked at us funny for a moment. "I know nothin'. As I was telling the cops. And those Russian dudes…"

Woah, what? "What Russian dudes?" I asked.

"The ones that were asking about her."

"How do you know they are Russians?" Tank asked, while I was wondering what some Russian guys were doing in this mess.

"Dude, I might be dealin' and I might not gone to Harvard but even I know what _dosvidanye_ means." He held two fingers to his head mimicking a gun. "if they didn't scare me, neither do you, though you have the scarier reprutation…"

"It actually means bye, but whatever," I said, turning and leaving Angus. Tank was close on my heels.

"Why would Russians look into this?" I asked, seeing Tank shrug for a moment.

"She is a fugitive. I'm assuming there is quite a bit of money to be made…"

"Yeah, but Russians mind usually their own business and only get involved when they are personally affected. The reward for Steph's capture is not enough to make them even take notice."

Tank nodded and I could see he and I had the same idea at the same time. Instead of returning to RangeMan we detoured to see some Russians. There was a bar on Main that was known for its Russian clientele. We both knew this could go badly. These were guys that weren't know for etiquette or nice manners and sure as hell wouldn't give up whatever they were after just because you asked nicely. For them information had a price and I wasn't sure I wanted to pay it.

Thing was, I knew a guy who probably could give me the information I needed but we weren't really on speaking terms. The fact that he had been one of RangeMan's FTAs surely wasn't helping me in this matter. I saw him the moment we went inside the bar and he had seen us as well.

"If you are here for me you are wasting your time. I didn't do it…"

"I'm here about Stephanie Plum."

"What about her?" he asked, sounding almost bored.

"Someone asked around on Stark and I need to know why."

"And you think I'd tell you? If so you are dumber than I thought. Though, not gonna lie, that little bounty hunter bitch is hot. If I were you, I'd find her quickly and- "

A moment later his head hit the bar counter and I applied pressure on spots that I knew would hurt like a bitch.

"Who asked around Stark and why?" I asked again, applying more pressure.

"What the fuck?" Diego almost yelled. "That hurts man…"

"Answer the question and it stops hurting…"

"The Russian _family_ , man. Ok? They asked around. But not because of your bitch – awwww, what the fuck?" he yelled some more when I applied more pressure and twisted his arm in a very painful direction.

"She has a name. And that sure as hell ain't bitch,…."

"That… Bounty Hunter wasn't who they were interested in," he answered when I loosened my grip slightly.

"Who were they interested in?" I asked.

"That other bitch. The dead chick…"

"Joyce Barnhardt?" Tank asked and looked at me.

"Yes, sure, whatever. That's the one the bounty hunter chick offed, right?"

"Why were they after Joyce?" I asked.

"What do I know? None of my business…."

Applying more pressure again I was certain I'd break his arm soon – not that I cared much. "Wrong answer."

"I…. Jesus, that fucking hurts man," he yelled again. As if I actually cared. "She… she owed them, ok? That's all I know. She owed them money and a lot."

"But she was dead when they asked…" Tank reminded him.

"Look, I didn't ask around. All I heard was what I told you. That's all. I don't know. I know nothing."

A moment later I let go of him and Tank and me were on our way back to RangeMan.

"None of this makes sense. Joyce was already dead when the Russians started asking around. She owed them money, but… well she was dead. Why would they go around asking about her? They had to know seeing that it made every front page," Lester asked when I had let them know about what we managed to find.

"Maybe someone wanted to make sure things really were as they made the papers," Cal suggested making me think for a moment. "When you think about it, when she owed them money it probably wasn't just a few hundred bucks. And with her being dead, the Russians wouldn't see that money ever again. Maybe they just wanted to make sure that this really was the case before writing it of as a loss."

I nodded, admitting that was a good theory. But it still left a few questions unanswered.

"What happened with Joyce' body?" I asked Bobby when I saw he had her autopsy report in his hands and was reading it again.

"There was no family to claim the body and after the mandatory three weeks waiting period for someone to step forward and make a claim the body was sent to-" Bobby paged through the file until he found what he was looking for. "The body was sent to Princeton for medical research. Why?"

"How was the body identified?" I asked, ignoring his question.

Bobby thumped through the pages again. "General characteristics like height, approximate weight, hair color and the likes matched, as well as birthmarks and a tattoo. Also they took fingerprints."

"Do you have someone you can contact at Princeton? See if the body is still around?" I asked Bobby and saw him think for a moment.

"I know someone I could ask. But Ric, after that amount of time I'd say the chances are slim that the body is still around…"

I nodded at him, knowing what he meant. "See what you can do. I want to look at the body…"

"Why?" Lester asked first, while Tank just looked at me and Bobby was consulting the file again. Cal looked undecided.

"I want to make sure thing really are what they look like. If the Russians looked into this it can't hurt doing the same…"

"Yeah, but I figure the Russians stopped eventually cause they figured the money was lost and Barnhardt was dead."

"Let's just see whether we come to the same conclusion…" I said, dismissing everyone. Bobby, Lester and Cal left the office, only leaving me and Tank back.

Tank looked at me for a moment, but didn't say anything. "What?" I finally asked.

"I want as much clarification in this whole thing as you, Ric. But…. you have to admit, you are grasping straws right now."

I admitted it looked like that. But there was this feeling I had, a feeling that was telling me I was missing something. Babe used to call it her spidey-senses and I think they were mostly active when I was around. Or maybe Tank was right and I was grasping straws.

Three days later Bobby had managed to reach someone at Princeton and we were on your way there now. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect to be honest, or what I was hoping to find. Maybe this just another dead end and at some stage I'd have to admit defeat. But I'd cross that bridge once I got there.

"Looks dead to me," Bobby said, making sure we were looking at the right body by comparing toe tags. He was surprised as I had been when learning the body was still untouched and stored. The faculty apparently hadn't gotten around to use it for their researches yet – which was our luck. "The body is barely recognizable which is probably due to the fact how long she had been dead by now and also that she was hardly recognizable when they had found her to begin with. The general characteristics matched Joyce'. The hair color looks about the same, the tattoo she supposedly has is there as well, same can be said about the birthmark on her hip. Heights is about correct, " Bobby said, lifting the sheet that was covering the body and showing me the birthmark.

The paperwork was correct. This was Joyce Barnhardt and yet I was thinking something was going on. I usually didn't make it my business to solve murder cases. That was the job of the TPD. But since Stephanie was involved in a way that I certainly didn't like and something felt weird about this, I almost saw it as my duty to give a helping hand. To a closed case. I knew how it must look to Tank and everyone else at RangeMan. And I was certain there was a semi-serious concern I'd either loose it soon or my chase and involvement in this case would at some point start affecting RangeMan everyday business.

"I need a set of prints," I informed my medic who looked surprised but didn't ask any further. He learned soon that sometimes it was best to let me just run with whatever thought occupied my mind.

Half an hour later we left again and I dropped the prints of with Eddy, not telling him what they were but asking him rather he could run them for me and let me know about the results.

Eddy looked confused for a moment but agreed, telling me he'd get back to me the moment he got the results. Three days later I got his call and the results.

I called Tank and the rest of the CoreTeam and asked them to meet me in the conference room.

"I asked Bobby to take a set of prints from Joyce when we went to see the body at Princeton. Eddy ran them for me."

I was met by four sets of eyes when I threw Eddy's result in the middle of the table.

Silence and confusion – usually not a very good combination. "And?" Cal finally asked, speaking what everyone else was thinking.

"The dead body at Princeton that is supposed to be Barnardt isn't Joyce. The prints ID'ed her to be Rayne Macenville – a hooker ."

There was a short silence and then all mayhem broke loose.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: I am glad I could suprise some of you with the plot twist of my last chapter. But let'sbe honest here, how else would I get Steph's name cleared? :) Hope you enjoy this part, too!_

* * *

"Are you sure you had the correct body?" Tank asked and was met by Bobby's glare.

"I know how to do my fucking job and how to read and compare toe tags. This isn't my first dead body, Tank," Bobby snarled and took the file with the results from Eddy.

"I want a background check on Detective Caffrey who was leading the investigation. And I want to know what Joyce did til the moment she died. Every. Little. Detail." With that everyone was dismissed and I let out a frustrated sigh. This was just not getting better. Sure, now I was at least on some sort of case that was going somewhere. There was more behind that supposed death of Barnhard, but it didn't get me any closer to finding Stephanie or untangle this whole mess. And let's be honest here, I myself couldn't care less about Joyce or how or why she died. All i cared about what getting Stephanie back here to Trenton and then making sure she'd never leave. Ever. Again.

Two days after we found out that the body at Princeton wasn't Joyce we regrouped with the information we had managed to get about everyone involved.

"Caffrey is a clean-cut detective. He seemed married to his job, no known girlfriend or wife, no kids. Bought a house on the edge of the Burg when transferring here a few months back from Philadelphia. Quite good clearance rate of cases he gets assigned to. Has no partner and tends to work his cases by himself. Apparently he has a bit of a reputation for being anal when it comes to cases and evidence collected. He collects all the evidence himself and doesn't let CSU usually process much. From what I could gather, he had a case back in Philly that was dismissed by a judge due to compromised evidence and the likes. Since then he does everything himself. Was the lead detective on Barnhard's case. Member of a couple of clubs. Plays baseball and basketball once a week. That's it. Nothing else…" Lester informed me. Half the stuff I already knew from Eddy from our conversation a few days earlier. "But…" he all of a sudden went on, when most of us were already thinking that way was a dead end. "He has resigned a few days ago and hasn't been seen since. No one knows where he is, where he went or even why he resigned. Emptied all his accounts, canceled his cable and phone-contracts and… well… is gone."

"Just like that?" Tank asked.

"Just like that. Out of the blue from one day to another…Took all the leftover vacation apparently. "

This was frustrating. "What about the dead body?" I asked into the round.

"Not much to say. Rayne Macenville is like many, a hooker who wasn't really on many people's radar. She was reported missing about a week before Joyce was supposedly killed. Was reported by a Lalique Rockford – a hooker as well. Hard to say when she really disappeared. Case was a dead end, no suspects and I actually doubt someone really worked it. They probably looked at it, figured hooker gone missing and pretty much closed it, thinking it was just another pimp. She had been picked up by the police a couple times for the usual stuff, but hadn't crossed paths with Joyce from what I can see. Even alive she had a certain resemblance to Joyce but… that was it. Parents both dead, no relatives, average student at school. Looks like she never had a chance. Became an orphan at 15, was passed around her relatives, seems like no one wanted to bother. Went right for the life of a hooker after she graduated school, maybe even before that."

"So what's our theory? The bodies got mixed up?" Cal asked at which me and Bobby shook our heads. Even by the way he asked it was obvious that he himself didn't think of that as some hugh coincident.

"Wouldn't explain the prints. They were a perfect match according to the report. A match to Joyce."

"Someone made sure they were a match," I agreed. "And they went out of their way to get it all right. Rayne had similarities to Joyce. The murder weapon had Steph's prints on it. She had no alibi. It was… perfect. The perfect crime really."

"So are we thinking Joyce tried to screw her over and somehow managed to fool everyone?" Lester and I shook my head again.

"Too advanced. How would she have gotten Rayne's prints to match hers? How did she knew about the system outage for that hour so Stephanie's tracker would be useless?"

"So we suspect someone from Trenton PD?"

I reached for the report on Caffrey, thumbing through the file for a moment while the other guys were busy throwing theories around.

"You said he is processing everything himself…" I stated, seeing Lester nod.

"Yeah, something about a dismissed case due to evidence being contaminated. From that day on he collected and processed all evidence himself. Guess that's one way of avoiding screw ups."

"So… the prints were collected by him, or rather processed. Which means he could have just put any set in the report he wanted. No one would suspect a cop to plant false evidence. Could also explain the murder weapon."

"And the same company that provides the software for the trackers we plant on Bomber is providing the trackers for Trenton PD when they have ex-cons agreeing to wear anklet trackers for getting out sooner. It was a system wide outage which Trenton PD must have been aware of."

"Are we seriously considering a cop did all that? You guys realize no one at Trenton PD will want to hear, believe or cooperate on this with us," Bobby thought out loud for a moment.

"Let's be clear here. It is the only thing that makes sense…" Cal agreed.

"…and fits all the pieces perfectly together," Lester went on.

"Everything. Except for Joyce connection to Caffrey. They never crossed paths, have nothing in common. They don't move in the same circles, have different friends, interests, characters even."

"Maybe he screwed her," Tank offered, which wasn't so unusual of a thought. Seeing who Joyce had screwed over the years it almost seemed as long as her bed companion was male that was all she needed as qualification.

"Ok, maybe," Cal agreed warily. "But… you don't commit that sort of felony just for a screw. I mean you are talking about planting false evidence, accusing someone of murder to the extent that it would have gone to trial. Forging evidence and faking someone's death. That isn't just a petty crime, this is a life-ending, career-altering choice."

"People made way worse choices for way less before," Lester shrugged.

"Maybe he was fed up with his life so far and the justice system that he didn't care anymore," Bobby offered.

"And because he was fed up with how previous cases of his have been mishandled he himself becomes criminal and tries to send someone else to jail?" I asked. That was quite honestly a far stretch.

I let out a sigh – this was getting frustrating. It seemed with every step we took that unraveled parts of this shit more questioned were raised than being answered! At this rate we'd never get anywhere.

"Do we know how much Joyce owed the Russians?" I asked after I listened to my core team for a while.

"Tough to say," Cal started. "I went back to the bar you visited with Tank and also asked carefully around, but the numbers range from a few 10k to almost a million. But everyone who knew something was telling me that about a week before her death she took out another high loan. I guess, knowing that she isn't dead probably means she took the money and made a run for it. If I was her, I'd be at the other end of the world by now, sipping cocktails in Bora Bora or some other island that is far far away."

I just nodded, knowing there wasn't much for me to add. I just hoped Cal was wrong and Joyce wasn't really in some country where we'd never be able to find her. And that had non-extradition agreements.

"Find her!"


	16. Chapter 16

A week after we had found out about Joyce and her issues with the Russians we finally made progress.

"I'm not saying I found her, cause I didn't…" Lester almost triumphantly announced, Bobby, Cal and Tank following one step behind him.

"Than what are you saying?" I asked in a neutral voice. I knew I wasn't fooling any of these guys. They knew I was annoyed by Lester's cryptic announcement.

At that a batch of what looked like photos landed on my desk and I felt my irritation grow. I picked up what had landed on my desk and skimmed through the pictures.

"I think that's Bomber," Lester finally announced after I was reaching the end of my patience. "She has changed her clothes and wears a different head and the likes. The duffle bag though is the same, although she manages to keep it hidden very well. She picked that shit up way too well from us. I never expected her to ever use all of these techniques when some of us explained them. The student has become the master…."

"So where is she?" I heard Bobby ask.

"As I said, I didn't find her. But I managed to track her steps. Well…to Philadelphia. Kind of lost her there again – though I'm almost certain she boarded a train towards the Northwest. She changed clothes again and it is kind of hard to figure out where she is between these thousands of people. Who knew so many people travelled so late at night?"

I nodded, feeling my frustration appearing again. I was always in check with what I displayed to the outside – always – except when it came to Stephanie Plum. She came and changed things. She was the unexpected that I apparently so desperately needed. Over the course of the last few weeks I had laid awake at night and made deals with gods I stopped believing in years ago. I wanted her back and regretted never telling her how I felt. I guess that was partly because I myself never wanted to believe how I felt. I hadn't depended on anyone in years and yet her I was, as independent as ever, realizing I depended on her and her love for me. At this stage I simply hoped I hadn't missed my chance and would see her again at some point in our lives.

Tank's attempt at a sigh was what brought me back to the present. "She learned that shit way too well from us," I heard him say and saw everyone nodding in agreement. She did learn this way too well. All of us wanted her to succeed at everything she attempted, but we never expected that one day she'd turn this against us.

"Barnardt on the other hand isn't as good," Bobby announced. "She was smart enough to buy a ticket way before her death, but that is where her smarts stopped. She took a plane to O'Hare and another one to Dallas and from there to Phoenix. There a rental car was picked up and hasn't been returned. The rental car company reported it stolen when it wasn't returned within a week after the agreed drop-off date. The car was found at long-term parking at LAX."

"She took another flight?"

"Well… I didn't find anything on her cards to suggest that. But I looked at Caffrey's credit cards and he bought two tickets to Maui and then onwards to Samoa."

"There goes the chance of at least getting Barnhardt and turning her in…" Lester pointed out.

"I'm not so sure…" Bobby said cryptic, which had me asking "Why?"

"They never boarded the planes. Neither in LA nor Maui."

"And this hasn't come up before why again?" I asked irritated and frustrated that it had been weeks, months even and this could have helped a lot sooner.

"Well…" Cal started. "Joyce was dead. None of us suspected foul play in regards of the matter that she really is dead. So going thoroughly through her financial records was not a necessity. Also, Caffrey wasn't on our radar either."

I let out a sigh again – something I'd never do but seemed to be into quite a lot lately. Cal was right. I hadn't looked into either Caffrey or Joyce' financials either since coming back. So it wasn't simply an oversight. We all knew foul play was involved in regards of someone wanting to frame Steph for the murder. None of us suspected the actual foul play was the murder itself.

"Anything new on Caffrey?" I asked finally.

"We asked Eddie to see if he could track down an old colleague of Caffrey's in Philly," Lester answered and threw another file on my desk. The amount of paperwork Stephanie's case created was outrageous. By now we had files with information that made the Harry Potter books look like school papers in comparison off length. And yet, we still didn't seem to be any closer to finding Babe than a few weeks ago. That alone showed how good she actually was. Not that I ever really doubted that.

"It was hard finding anyone who could say anything. Apparently he isn't a very social guy and didn't hang out much with his colleagues at the PD. He was somewhat of a loner so to speak. Had no partner, did all his cases alone and apparently had a clearance rate of almost 87%. A few colleagues that had anything to say about him apparently said that if you wanted a case to be solved you hoped Caffrey was the Lead Detective."

"How is it possible to have 87% clearance rate?" Tank asked and I could see the same question on everyone else's mind.

"Well…." Lester went on. "I guess when you all of a sudden have witnesses step forward or new evidence found that was previously overlooked. His colleagues called him thorough, I'd rather say he was _creative_."

"You thinking about evidence tempering and false witnesses?" Cal asked surprised and Lester bobbed his head from left to right.

"It is a hard thing to proof, especially since some of these cases are years old. But it would explain a lot. He just happened to have found new witnesses that all of a sudden helped his cases to get solved? And evidence that hadn't been found before was only overlooked and now processed? It would also be an explanation as to the question of how Beautiful's prints ended up on the alleged murder weapon. Sure, someone could have just planted that knife there. Or someone could make collected prints all of a sudden match hers. He processed the evidence all by himself. He could have done anything and no one would assume he was planting anything anywhere. Why would he? He has no obvious connection to Joyce – so what's his motive for tempering? He was previously screwed on a case in regards of evidence so he does it all himself – makes him thorough and careful in his co-workers eyes. Plus, you'd never suspect a Detective of evidence tempering, especially when the facts – witnesses, arguments the day before, threats being issued - speak for the accused being the actual murderer. The almost perfect crime when you think about it…"

I actually didn't want to think about it. All I wanted to do was find her. And get her home. And never let her go! But in order to be able to do that… I needed to know where she was. And in that regards we weren't anywhere closer to finding here than where we had been week ago. Occasionally something new turned up, but nothing that could be called a lead or step in the right direction.

"Maybe we should turn our collected evidence in to the PD and proof Bomber's innocence," I heard Bobby suggest.

His statement hadn't even finished when my fist hit my desk and a loud bang could be heard which made all of my guys look at me. "I'm not giving up on finding her."

"Ric," I heard Tank's voice start. "Maybe she doesn't want to be found."

"When we turn our evidence in and proof her evidence she might get wind of it and then return all by herself," Lester finished Bobby's idea and I didn't like it.

This was too uncertain. What if she didn't get wind and wouldn't return? I wasn't giving up on her or us. I was going to find her – one way or another.

"Let's just turn in what we found and at least get the PD off her back…" Cal said calmly and I saw the others nod.

"Sure, and get every lowlife in Trenton and surroundings right on her track," I said. Tank, Cal, Bobby and Lester looked at me confused.

"What do you think will happen when people find out Barnhard is not dead? Especially Russian speaking people? They will try finding Barnhard, if only for the money the mob will put up for getting her. And how do you think they'll try finding Barnhard? By any means possible. And if that means Babe might know something that somehow helps them get their hands on the reward they don't care how to get information from her. I'm not saying they are better than RangeMan in regards of tracking her down. But when you have plenty of people with questionable contacts all over the country, someone is bound to get lucky and find her somehow. And we don't have the resources to keep an eye on every lowlife out after the bounty. I'd rather have her not found than found by some sleazy guy who has no remorse or conscience when it comes to getting info that might not even exist with Steph."

"So what do you wanna do with the intel?"

"We keep it to ourselves until we know she is out of danger."

I just hoped that getting that knowledge wouldn't take much longer now. And that she was save - wherever she was.


	17. Chapter 17

I had enough stuff going on in my life to be distracted from my previous life. And yet I couldn't help letting my thoughts go back to my friends and family and whether they somehow had managed to move on from my escape. At nights when I was feeling particularly home-sick I logged on to the Trenton newspaper-sites and read all the stories of what was going on. After almost four months I had to realize the Bombshell Bounty Hunter was no longer a topic that made the papers. I figured TPD simply had given up on finding me.

A time or two I was close to picking up the phone and call people, just to stop myself last minute, calling me foolish. I had managed to disappear and get away from it all. Calling someone was probably not the best idea, especially since I didn't even know who to call.

Me running away painted a very peculiar picture, mainly me being guilty. Or why else would I run? I could already hear the Burg grapevine and could see my mother between frantic ironing and constant drinking of her stash. I finally confirmed to be the disappointment she had told me I was – just not in as many words. Val had always been on my mother's side – well most times anyway. So calling her probably would do little good. I wasn't sure on what terms Ranger and me were any longer. Seeing I stole from him and drugged one of his guys I figured our terms weren't any longer the best.

Mary Lou I could trust to be happy and on my side, but the last thing I needed was to get her into trouble for being in contact with a fugitive. Morelli I quickly passed on, seeing how very little he seemed to think of me at this stage. Connie and Lula probably were on my side – at least I hoped they were. Seeing how quickly Morelli turned against me I wasn't entirely sure, but scolded me a moment later after thinking that. They had always been in my corner and just because Morelli finally proved to be the douche everyone kept telling me for years didn't mean that Connie or Lula would turn against me either.

When my homesickness got too bad I'd liked to imagine how things would have turned out if I hadn't taken the turns in my life that I took. I wondered whether I would have gotten to know the people I knew now and whether Ranger and me would have had a real shot at something in another life that didn't have me running away from the law and go into hiding. Off course, when being homesick the last thing you should do is thinking about people you left behind and you were missing right now. But I'd like to imagine that this helped somehow, that it lessened the pain somewhat.

My neighbors and people living in Pueblo del Sol were all keen to set me up with someone. It felt like everyone knew someone who was single and would be _just my type._

In the beginning I was dodging these matchmaking tries. But eventually I started seeing them as distractions from my previous life. I wasn't foolish enough to think that this would make me forget about what I had left behind. Especially seeing that none of the guys I went out with were in any league like Ranger was playing.

I wasn't aware how much I had missed him and something we technically never had until now. Until I started comparing the guys in front of me with him. I wouldn't say I was distant or closed-off, but I figured the guys I went out with must have noticed something. Soon enough all sort of stories about me and my past were flowing around town. Most were mainly in regards of me probably having had bad luck with guys previously and now not being able to let go or trust others. Very few even went as far as suggesting I had written off men and was now rooting for my own gender.

I found it amusing and also entertaining. Especially seeing that none of these stories did anything in regards of lessening the interest. I was busy socially speaking and didn't mind as much now as I did in the beginning.

"What you need is a good, homebred man," one of the woman said when I was having a cup of coffee at one of the local cafés.

"A what?" I asked amused, taking a sip.

Doris took that as an invitation to sit down at my table and start on her theory what kind of guy I definitely needed and was looking for.

"A man that follows old-fashioned values. Family, respect, love. Someone who has a steady and good, well-respected job, comes home after work every night. Someone who cherishes a good well-prepared home cooked meal and provides for his family."

"What if I am in need of a man who provides the home cooked meals and who I come home to?"

"Why would you want that?" Doris asked and in a weird way I was feeling like talking to my mother.

"Because this ain't the 1950s anymore, Doris," I heard Irene say behind me. "Adriana is independent and does need no man to provide for her. She's independent and standing on her own feet. The times where women were stay-at-home wives, cooking, cleaning and looking after the children and where men were the breadwinners with jobs, providing for the family are long gone."

A moment later Irene joined us at our table, smirking at me and reminding me of Grandma Mazur. Irene was followed by Estelle who sat down with a similar comment.

"She doesn't need a man. No one needs a man anymore."

This is in a weird way how we always met. Randomly at a café where one would start on her opinion and the others would sooner or later follow. I liked to call them my Golden Girls. Because in a weird way they reminded me about the TV show.

"Of course she needs a man, Estelle. Don't be ridiculous. How will she have children if not with a man?" Doris asked confused and irritated.

"Who says she wants children?" Irene asked and Estelle nodded. "These times we live in now don't require for women to have kids. If you don't want them, you don't have them."

At that six sets of eyes looked at me as if all of a sudden I was part of their conversation as opposed to their topic. And I got it. Initially when these weird random and unintentional meetings occurred I was always confused and irritated to say the least. These ladies had a tendency to talk about me as if I wasn't next to them. But I got it. I was pretty much what Estelle and Irene wanted to be like when they were younger and everything Doris didn't understand about today's world and women.

Doris was like my mother, just less annoying in her 'you need to get married' ways. Irene and Estelle were like Grandma Mazur, or MaryLou or Connie – always in my corner and always on my side.

Now I guess I only needed to find substitutes for the Merry Men and I was all set. Or not, seeing that technically none of the people in Trenton were replaceable.

"I don't ," I finally answered, hearing my mother in faraway Trenton faint. And by the look of it Doris was about to do the same. "I don't think I'm the maternal type."

Sure I did well with my nieces, but truth be told, I knew there was a time when they'd be picked up or 'returned'. I wasn't so sure I'd do alright when having them around me And somehow I guess you know deep down inside when you just aren't the motherly type.

"Nonsense," Doris said, waving a hand at me. "How can you know you are not the maternal type if you haven't tried it yet? Trust me, during my first pregnancy I was certain I wasn't going to be a good mother either. And that this was the worst decision I ever made. But once the kid is born, you grown into the role. Everyone does…"

Before I could come up with a reply it was Irene, who was once again in my corner.

"Well, we surly can agree that this is not the case. There are people who rather shouldn't have become parents. Like that mother of that Manson guy – Charles or what his name was. Or Jack the Ripper's mother. These would have done the world a favor if they had kept their legs shut!"

"That hardly is the mother's fault," Doris answered outraged. And I actually agreed, but decided this wasn't a conversation I needed to be part in necessarily.

"Well…" Estelle started, but never got to finish her sentence when the waiter who was probably not older than mid-twenties served the coffee I couldn't remember had been ordered.

"From the gentleman over there…" the waiter explained with an heavy accent, reminding me about Ranger once more. Not that Ranger had a thick, prominent Spanish accent, but I'd like to think in certain _situations_ he could.

I turned my head in a strange overhead, sideways 'not really interested but whatever' fashion to follow the direction the waiter's head nodded, to see who our coffee guy was and realized that he was certainly not after me. Judging by what I saw he was closer to the age of Doris, Irene and Estelle.

"See? That's the kind of man I am talking about," Doris said, looking at us triumphantly.

"He isn't really in my age bracket," I said to no one in particular. "Also, I think he is more interested in you ladies than in me."

"But that is the kind of man you need…."

"What? A guy who buys me coffee?" I asked amused, seeing Doris getting frustrated since I clearly wasn't getting her point. Estelle and Irene next to me snickered.

Before Doris could go on, I decided on stopping her. "Also… I have a guy. A good guy. An awesome one actually."

Three sets of eyes looked at me at that. "Well, how awesome and good can he possibly be?" Doris asked confused at which I saw Irene look at her in a reprimanding fashion and almost hissing her name.

"What?" she asked. "I mean she is here and he clearly isn't. As a matter of fact, I haven't seen anyone with her that we don't know. So, how awesome can he be when he hasn't managed to come here just once in all these months?"

"Things are… complicated," I simply said, wondering why I had started this conversation.

"How complicated can it be? If you love him and he loves you you get together. Simple."

Oh yeah, really simple. Just…. with a few problems inbetween.

When I didn't answer or respond, I heard Irene next to me. "Is… he married?"

My head whipped around faster than in wanted and I felt dizzy for a second. "Well… no. The problem is more that I'm a fugitive…" I said absent-minded at which I realized too late Doris, Estelle and Irene looking at me surprised. "Of love." I added. "A fugitive of love."

"Are you running away from him?" Estelle asked and I sort of nodded and shock my head in another weird movement. Technically I was running away, just not really from him. I'd be more than happy to run towards him at a seconds notice.

"Well…." I said, but once more couldn't finished.

"Oh my god, it's your mother, isn't it?" Irene asked.

"What does my mother have to do with any of that?" I asked confused at which Irene just shock her head.

"He's black and you aren't. That's it, right? And your mother or people around you now have racial issues and that's why you can't be together…."

Wow, that… escalated quickly. "If there is an issue between my mother and him it has more to do with his job, reputation and the people he spends his time with," I explained, figuring that agreeing would have ended that conversation quickly, but I didn't want the image of my mother painted as some racist person from whose opinions I was running away from. "And before you ask, it is all hear-say and none of it is true. My mother just… liked to believe the city's rumor mill more than what her own daughter tells her about the guy."

After that the conversation went back to rather normal topics. I spent a good hour listening to Doris, Irene and Estelle bicker about all sort of things, usually covering a big field of topics. Occasionally they tied me into their conversations and asked my stand on certain things – but that was it.

After that we went our separate ways until the next time. And I was almost certain the next time we'd meet, Doris would have found the ideal man, not knowing that my heart already belonged to someone else. Someone who hopefully was safe wherever he was and wasn't hating me too much for my actions.


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: I don't know what it is but this story simply seems like it doesn't want to finish itself soon. I have it written til almost the end, but I seem to lack inspiration for the last two or three chapters. I try my best getting it done but it might take a while. In the meantime I just keep updating the chapters that are written and hope by the time I reach the last one I have finished the rest :D I love every single one of you for their continious support!_

* * *

I liked my job – I really did. Which was odd, seeing I spent my days cleaning hotel rooms and that I myself had never been the domestic queen my mother tried to raise me to be. But I really liked what I was doing. Maybe it was because I had been a bounty hunter for too long and knew that there were a lot worse jobs to be had. At least with being in housekeeping of a small hotel I wasn't required to chase after guys who tried shooting me or drown me in several unpleasant amounts of garbage or liquids that had similar scents.

I somehow was monotone, sure, always doing pretty much the same thing day in, day out. But maybe after my last few years of excitement as a bounty hunter this was exactly what I needed to do.

"Are you sure you are happy?" my boss Oksana asked me a few days ago and it was tough to answer- I nodded my head, deciding to take her question in regards of my job.

"I am."

"You sure?" she asked curious, eyeing me suspiciously. "I know not all is like it seems with you. And I don't mean to be like your mother, but …. Sometimes I get the feeling you are a thousand miles away with your thoughts and you'd like to be anywhere but here."

"I'm not from around here as you probably know," I said and saw her nodding. "Sometimes I just miss my hometown and people there."

"So?" Oksana half said, half wondered. "Take a few days off, book yourself a ticket to wherever that is and go. You have worked hard enough for the past months. Even as part tune you are here way more than you are technically required to be. You earned yourself a holiday."

As much as I liked the word holiday I knew it wasn't an option. "Thanks but…. no thank you. There isn't much to return home to," I simply answered, hoping that Oksana wouldn't press any further. Usually she didn't. She learned long ago that I was a very private person when it came to questions from my past. She never pushed again, and always seemed to have accepted that certain questions she would never get an answer for. Some days I found myself wondered what she must be thinking about me and my vague answers. Occasionally she would make a joke and say that one day I'd tell her my story. And I was always secretly hoping that _one day_ was hopefully never coming or was still a few decades away.

"So…. Go somewhere else. I mean it. You need a vacation and we are having a bit of a slow month right now. So take a few says off, get you mind off things and just have fun."

It became obvious that my boss was set on the idea of sending me off on vacation. It wasn't like I didn't appreciate the offer, but there wasn't really anywhere I wanted to go as such – if you didn't take Trenton into consideration. And even if I wanted, I couldn't. Every move outside Pueblo del Sol could mean I could be found and brought back into the system in Jersey. Sure, technically the same could happen with staying in Pueblo del Sol, but I liked to think I was known by enough people as my new me and that chances were slim.

When Oksana tried for a third time to convince me to take a few days off I finally agreed. This wasn't going anywhere anyway. If I would have had tried to have my way now, she would have simply brought it back up in a few days' time until I finally would have agreed. That usually was her very successful technique in getting her will. I also remembered I had a few things that needed to be take care of around my house and maybe a few days off really were a good idea.

I ended up being a week away from the hotel and actually really leaving town for a few days. I took my bicycle for a trip out of town and ended up more or less camping. It wasn't like I really needed it but I also felt like I needed to break out for a few days from what I had been seeing, doing and the people I had been around for the past few months. The irony that I just took my bicycle and went for a trip into the Californian wilderness wasn't lost on me and the fact that back in Trenton you couldn't get me either on a bicycle nor into the wilderness was amusing to say the least. I had always made fun of Ranger and his guys for supposedly living on strict diets of excessive exercise and nutrition with the likes of tree bark. Now it seemed I was heading almost the same direction.

After a week I was back at work and according to Oksana looked very well rested and much better now. I felt better as well to be honest and as much I hate admitting, it seemed like I really was in need of a vacation before.

I was just finishing my last few rooms when I saw a couple walk towards me. I moved my stuff and cart closer to the wall so that the would have space in case they wanted to pass. They didn't. Apparently they had a room a few doors away from whichever I was just working on.

I didn't pay much attention to them until I heard the woman laugh. My head shot up at lightspeed. I knew that laughter. I hated that laughter for years. But that couldn't be. Maybe I was just confusing something or someone else had a similar laugh. I whipped my head up quickly enough to see her for a few seconds and I almost fall over backwards.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. This couldn't be. I was seeing ghosts or having a hallucination. Maybe I was too long on vacation or had managed to overheat with me spending all this time outside in the sun. Maybe I needed more vacation. Maybe the week away hadn't been enough.

I had not just seen Joyce Barnhardt getting into one of rooms. With a guy who seemed oddly familiar. What. The. Fuck?


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: Thanks forall of you wonderful people who are still with me and keep reading. A lot of you practically screamed at me "Sge's gonna call ranger now, right? RIGHT?" Um... no. Sorry. I like the idea of a really strong and independent Stephanie. And while i love Ranger for all he does for her and his unwavering support and - let's be honest - love I think Steph has enough reason and doubt to not call Ranger. Hello half a million she stole from him - or shall we say borrowed? The story will take a few surprising turns and if I may say so already Stephanie will get back to Trenton with quite a bang!_

* * *

I couldn't believe what I had seen. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me and making me see and hear things that weren't there. But why Joyce freaking Barnhardt? Why not Ranger? Or my mother? Or Lula? Why Joyce of all people?

I took a pile of towels and walked closer to where they had disappeared into. Room 24 – I would definitely have to look that up once downstairs again, finding out who had checked in for that room. Through the closed door I could hear them talking, but couldn't understand what they were saying. Which probably was for the best, seeing how crazy this was. Here I was, spying on someone who was thought to be dead and for whose death I was made responsible. Maybe I was slowly losing my marbles, which surprised me, seeing that I had expected this a lot sooner.

I returned back to my cart, dumped the towels on it and made my way to reception.

"Everything ok?" Oksana asked me, when I stepped behind her computer and logged into the program to check reservations.

"Yes, I just… I thought I saw someone I know just a few minutes ago."

"And why are you checking reservations?" my boss asked confused. "Why not just walk up and say Hi. Isn't that what people usually do?"

"Well… yeah, but… that someone is supposed to be dead," I said, not really thinking what I had just said. But I was in my own little world, trying to find out who was in room 24. The reservation was under Goldsmyth for two people. Check in was yesterday and they were to stay for 5 days.

"Did you just say dead?" Oksana asked, sounding more than surprised.

"Hu?" I asked, turning my attention away from the screen. "Oh, um… not that dead. I meant that, um… that she is dead to me. We …um… were friends and had a huge fight and… well, yeah. She stole my boyfriend and um… more. In a way. Really messy…." I explained, not sure whether she'd believe me.

"You know, I figured there would be a story you haven't told me. One day, I still hope you'll tell me…" Oksana said. I just nodded, letting it go for the moment.

"The Goldsmyth's from yesterday, hu?" she asked a moment later, looking over my shoulder at the screen. "Odd couple. Especially the guy. Seems to have a thing for names…"

"What do you mean?" I asked curious.

"She introduced herself twice with what he explained is her middle name and he kept correcting her to use the first name as it is written on the license. Otherwise people would get confused. Not that it really confused me. I just needed to know what to call her. For all I care I could have called her any name she wanted."

"What name did she tell you? Maybe it is a name the guy has bad memories associated with," I asked, laughing. With a bit of luck she'd answer my suspicion and I could lay this all to rest, being reassured I just imagined the impossible.

Oksana thought about it for a moment. "Louis? No… something similar. I think it was… Joyce. Yes, that was it. She introduced herself as Joyce. Not a bad name. Not the best name out there either, but well…"

For a moment my heart stopped. Joyce? What were the chances? This was not a con-incidence and I sure as hell hadn't imagined things. But… what the hell was going on? She was dead. I had been about to get convicted for her murder. How? Why?

"Are you ok? You look a bit pale, Adrianna."

"I'm fine. I just remembered something. And… well, if her name is Joyce than it …um… isn't the person who I thought I had seen…" I said, walking away from reception.

I went back to my cart, finished my job in the other rooms and went back to 24 at the end when I finished everything else and was certain no one was in there anymore.

I worked quick, not wanting them to return while I was still doing my job and maybe being discovered. Which was ironic. She was supposed to be dead and I was a fugitive. Somehow I imagined that even if she'd find me, I wouldn't go to prison and that she wouldn't rat me out.

I was done in record time and out of the room before anyone came back.

I needed a plan. I needed to figure out what was going on. The reasons why someone would fake their own death weren't endless. Something was going on and I was going to find out what it was. One way or another. And then I'd probably Barnhardt for real for the crap she put me through.

For the first time in months I actually saw a possibility that maybe I could return back to Trenton. I liked my life in California and the people around me. But I was constantly watching my surroundings, always worried I might get discovered and carted off to prison. And that wasn't a life I wanted to lead for the next sixty years or so. I might never have had a plan for my life and what I wanted to achieve at a certain age, but I also knew going to prison wasn't a plan for me either.

A day after I had seen her at the hotel luck was on my side when I spotted her in a café I was just walking by. With my big sunglasses and my hair open, I was certain she wouldn't make me right away if even at all. Since the café was really crowded and choice in tables was limited I realized it must have been my lucky day. Two tables were empty and one of them was right next to Joyce. It wouldn't be suspicious if I choose that one. I sat with my back to them so that I could try to listen in on their conversation. The guy she was with seemed familiar but I couldn't place him right away. Joyce on the other hand wasn't hard to spot. She looked different than her usual getup and had changed her looks. Hair was a bit lighter and curly, makeup was a bit more decent. You could still recognize her, thought it might take a second look to do so. She hadn't gone to my extremes, but then again it wasn't as if she was running from the law. At least, I thought she wasn't.

I ordered a café and some cake and fished my copy of the local newspaper out of my bag and pretended reading it while I hoped they said anything that would make sense. I didn't have to wait long. The guy was telling her to start using her new name which was Josie apparently. After all these months, he said, she should really have gotten accustom to this. New look and new name? Maybe she _was_ running from something.

"Will you just relax," Joyce answered, sounding annoyed. "Evgny will not find me or us in a small town on the other side of the country. He doesn't even have reasons to look for me thanks to you."

"I didn't _… help you_ to solve that problem with your Russian _friends_ so you can just keep living like nothing happened," her male companion explained and the way he pronounced _help_ and _friends_ made me suspicious. Something was definitely going on.

"Please, the Russian mob has by now found someone else far more interesting to go after. I'm no concern of them any more…."

"Only because I took care of that for you…"

I ordered another coffee from the waitress, kept pretending to read my newspaper and was not believing what I heard. The Russian mob? What the hell? Until now I didn't even know that Trenton had a Russian mob. They went back and forth with bitching to each other and eventually it clicked with me why that guy seemed familiar. That was the cop who had lead the investigation about Joyce' death. I felt all of a sudden like part of a really bad cop-drama on TV and decided that when I had heard enough to pay for my coffees and leave, thinking what I had heard through.

I needed to research – so much was for sure. And I also needed help at some stage. All I knew was that I had four more days to come up with something, a plan, an idea, anything, before Joyce would leave for good probably. With her leaving my chances of getting this all cleared would vanish to zero and _that_ was so not going to happen.

When I got back to my place I booted up my laptop and started my search. Good thing I had made a living with researching for a while.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: First off all I am sorry for the late update. I just returned from a month in South Korea and wasn't able to update cause I didn't have my laptopn and the saved chapters with me.(And I know, stupid, stupid me) Second of all... I know all about loving a story - or at least being invested in one enough to care - and that you want to know when it will move forward or get an update. I really do know how frustrating it is to wait and wait and wait. **BUT**... that is no excuse whatsoever to sent me PMs more or less filled with profanity, practically demanding an update to the story. This is a hobby of mine, not my dayjob. So when I can't update, I can't. Deal with it an wait like the rest or look for a new story. Sorry, as bad asit sounds. ut I sure as well won't sit around, letting people drag me down cause they can't their updates regulary. _

* * *

My research was going interesting places to say the least. As it turned out there was a mob in Trenton. As a matter of fact there didn't seem to be a mob that wasn't having a _branch_ in Trenton. I knew about the Italians – obviously – thanks to Connie, but who knew they were one of many. Russians, Albanian, Chinese. Some of these countries I wasn't even aware where to place them or that they even had a mob. For a moment it seemed that if your country wasn't having a mob it wasn't a legit country.

It didn't take me long to find who Joyce and her companion had been talking about last night. Evgny Pavlishchev was listed in several news sites as the head of the Russians. Great. Joyce always outdid everyone else – or she tried – so why wasn't I surprised that the guy she was running away from turned out to be the freaking head of the Russia family?

I was quickly realizing I was facing a few things. First… I was in way over my head. But then again, that has never stopped me before, has it? Secondly, I wasn't even sure how to find out what the issue was. I couldn't just type Joyce' name into Goggle along with Russian mob and hope that Goggle would tell me what was going on. For all I knew she could have slept with this Evgny guy and was less than stellar in her performance. Or maybe she witnessed something she shouldn't have seen and was now on their list. I couldn't really contact the Russians and get that info now, could I? Thirdly, even if I should figure out what it was Joyce managed to do, how would I accomplish for her to come back to Trenton, clear my name and face whatever consequences were there to be?

I had been in over my head before. But this was a whole new league. A whole new universe. Usually when I was facing similar issues before I would just jump in head first and hope for the best, knowing Ranger would probably somehow be there and save the day if it all turned for the worst. But… Ranger wasn't here now, was he? And I couldn't just call him up. I had no proof other than what I had seen with my eyes and I'm sure I was not the first person in history that was claiming she was innocent. Also, walking away with quite a lot of money from him was probably not helping my defense either. At this point I was lucky if he wasn't after me to deliver me to the authorities himself. Not that I could blame him to be honest.

I was on my own in this one. The media back home probably had a field day when news broke I escaped. I hated thinking that Ranger would believe whatever was said, but I once believed Morelli would stand by my side as well, didn't I? And look how that turned out.

I needed plans – as in several ones. I needed to find out what Joyce had managed to get herself into exactly. If she was innocent and basically running for her life I wouldn't put her in harms way despite the fact that I was running for my life as well – though less literal. I guess I could call Connie, who had her own connections to get info like that. But I didn't want to. I didn't want to contact Trenton in case they had tapped phone lines or god knows what and would trace me within seconds. And yes, I knew, I was watching way too many criminal dramas. Also I didn't know what Connie could find out and if what she found out wouldn't put her in harm's way. Also, with my luck, Lula would be right with Connie and then run to Ranger, or Tank more likely, telling them I had spoken to Connie. That would be less than ideal.

Technically I knew who I could ask but with her it was the same as with Connie. I didn't know the full details about things so I wasn't sure what the risks were. But Oksana was someone who once told me that fear is useless, since it is holding us back from bigger things. Yeah, my Russian boss was also very much into inspirational Zen-quotes.

"You look like crap," Oksana greeted me the next morning. Just what a girl wants to hera from her boss.

"I also feel like it," I said. "Didn't sleep much last night."

"I hope he was worth it," she joked making me involuntarily smile.

"Not really," I joked back, sitting down opposite her desk, drinking my coffee which I had gotten earlier. I was extremely early, so early I didn't know what to do until my job actually started.

"So, what did keep you up last night?"

"A…mystery," I said vaguely.

"I love mysteries," she exclaimed almost excited. Great, at least someone. "Is it a good book?"

"I don't think so to be honest," I joked, realizing she thought I was talking about a mystery novel.

"Well, how bad can it be if it keeps you up at night?"

She had a point.

"I … I need to ask you a favor," I said, seeing her nod and look at me expectantly. "It's a big favor and if you say no I would totally understand."

More nodding. God, I think I was becoming insane when I thought this was the best idea I had.

"You once told me about your …marriage," I started and saw her nod once more. "I…I might need to speak to someone from that … _family_ you married kinda into."

I let that sink in, deciding to leave it up to her where she wanted to go with this. If she chose to play dumb I would acknowledge that as her rather wanting staying out of this.

She eyed me for a moment. "You… aren't in any kind of trouble, girl, are you?"

I shook my head no. "Not more than usual," I joked.

"This has something to do with that story of yours that you still haven't told me, hasn't it?" she asked and I just shrugged. "One of these days… we'll sit down and have a vodka and you can tell me all about it."

"We'll see," I said noncommittal.

She let out a breathe and eyed me further. "Adrianna, you… you can't just call them up like a service provider," she said, laughing a moment later. "Though I guess they are that. A service provider – one way or another. These guys… I never had a problem with them, they never did me any harm and they were actually really good guys to me. But I know they have a side you don't want to get on. I was lucky, when I decided to divorce Mikhail it could have gone a lot of ways. There usually are only very few ways how one leaves that family and most of them end with you drowning or needing to change your name and relocate. If you want me to …help you, you need to give me a very good reason for getting back in touch with a part of my life that I left behind quite a long time ago."

I got her, I really did. You couldn't just hit someone like the Russian mob – or any mob for that matter – up and be 'hey what's up'. I knew what I was asking and it was foolish of me to think that I'd just walk in here and Oksana simply handing over a number. Even more foolish was that I didn't even know what to do once I would have had a number.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise i won't just run with the info and get you… arrested, or something," she said and quite honestly, it didn't sound very comforting. I had little to no option in getting this resolved. And to be honest, I wasn't even sure what to do once I had solved this part of the puzzle. Just knowing Joyce wasn't running from something terrible alone wasn't going to clear my name or get anything resolved. But what had I said earlier? I am someone who usually jumps head first into trouble, hoping that all would work out. Maybe it was time for hoping again. If not…well, I'd think about that once we got there.

So I let out a breath.

"Let me start by saying…. My name is not Adrianna. I'm Stephanie Plum and I'm from Jersey…"


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: I love all of you and your continuing support for this story. It sometimes only takes one single person to drag you down despite of having 20 who lift you up! So thank you for that... I love you!_

* * *

After I had finished my story Oksana sat opposite of me for a while, quiet. Then she got up and got what I assumed was Vodka.

"You know, I always figured you were running. But I thought it was from a guy or an abusive relationship. _This_ … I didn't expect," she said between sips. "Give me the name and I'll see what I can find out. I can't make a promise, since it is sometimes hard getting anything out of these guys, but one or two still owe me a favor and I'll see what I can get. Give me a day and I see what I can find out…"

And then I was dismissed to go, do my job. During my story Oksana looked several times shocked or surprised, but I guess it wasn't every day you hear someone tell you the story of running away, being a fugitive and supposedly a killer, just to find out the dead person was less than dead. As a matter of fact, I actually think this would make an awesome book. It had Hollywood written all over it.

While doing my job I was trying to keep my hopes low. For all I knew Oksana could find out that Joyce was indeed witness to a crime and was running away. Just because I had seen her didn't mean she automatically committed a crime herself.

It didn't even take Oksana a day to find out what I needed. By the time I was done for the day, Oksana had everything I needed. And much more.

"She was in debt," Oksana started. "Gambling, loans, the likes. Run up quite a tab. That's why the _family_ had an interest in her. She didn't witness a crime or the likes, she simply owed them money."

"How much money?" I asked, knowing it technically wouldn't make a difference.

"About two million…She took out quite a large loan right before she was found dead."

I let out a whistle. That was quite a sum indeed.

And all of a sudden I had an idea. Sort of. "I… need a contact," I said to Oksana, who looked at me a moment later as if I had lost my mind.

"Adrianna…. I mean, Stephanie – sorry, this will take time getting used to…. the… the Russian mob isn't something you can just call up. And …why anyway?"

"If she owes them that amount of cash I assume they want her back in a way. To make sure their money comes back as well. So… I assume they would be interested to speak to someone who can do just that."

"You do realize if you tell them she is still very much alive that they don't need you. They can track her down somehow if they just know she _is_ alive," Oksana argued and she had a point. But I had depended on luck and hope throughout my life. Why abandon both now if they had worked so great in my favor often enough before?

"Well…." I started. "I can do it quicker, seeing that I already know where she is." Yes, not my strongest argument but …well, the best I could come up with right now.

There was silence for a moment, Oksana looking like she was weighting her options. "Let's say… I get you a number… what will happen then?"

"I guess we'd come to some sort of agreement and I would get Joyce to Trenton with me," I said, admitting that I hadn't thought this far really.

"Why not get them to come here and get her?"

"Well… she almost had me sent to prison for something I didn't do. I want her to make a very public appearance in order to prove my innocence. I need to make sure that before she is given to the Russians, everyone knows she is still very much among us. I also need to make sure no harm comes to her. I'm not proving my innocence just to have the people she ran away from do god knows what to her moments later."

"Stepha-," Oksana started, and it surly didn't sound like _here's the number_.

"Look, I know what I'm doing," I said. And truth be told I didn't. Of course you don't just call guys like this up for chitchat and throw a bone their way but I was running out of options and out of time. In a few days Joyce would be gone probably forever and I needed to make sure that didn't happen.

Oksana let out a sigh, realizing I had my mind set. "I…I'll see what I can do. I'm not promising anything. It sometimes is tricky to get the right people and you can't just ask anyone to get in touch with someone higher up without looking suspicious…"

I just nodded, deciding I needed to get home and come up with a plan. No matter how this would play out, I needed to be prepared for it. I needed to find a way to keep Joyce around, to get her to Trenton and also I definitely needed to peptalk me into the possibility that I'd be speaking to the Russian mob. I remembered Connie once comparing La familia to a pack of wild animals. _"Showing any sort of fear makes you easy bait. Don't ever show fear"_

I can't remember why she was telling me this initially and I also don't know whether the same could be said about the Russian side of the _family_ but it was worth a try.

A day later I had a plan – sort of. It all though depended on what Oksana could do for me. That was the influencing factor. If she wasn't able to get me a contact I wouldn't need a plan other than staying hidden. I knew I put a lot of faith into one single person, but what were my options? Calling Connie and see if she had a way of getting in touch with Russians? That would probably end with someone telling Ranger and then he'd be after me again and maybe even find me depending on how determined he was. Calling Ranger right away was for obvious reasons no option any more. He had enough reasons to not only speak to me any longer but also come after me.

I had lost enough people who I thought were friends and trusted in me during this ordeal. Knowing Ranger could be one of them as well broke my heart already without knowing for sure. Getting confirmation would probably just do me in.

By the end of the day Oksana handed me a number – under the condition that she'd initiate contact and wanted to be around during the call. I nodded, assuming having a Russian speaker was certainly not the worst of ideas.

I had purchased another burner phone. If this went wrong they at least wouldn't know where we were. They could still look for Joyce but at least Oksana would be safe. And me probably as well. We decided to not give names and if they insisted, we'd use fake ones. With a few clicks I had our number blocked from being shown and hoped this was all it took.

"Da?" was the first thing I heard when the call was answered after two rings. Oksana started right away in rapid Russian and I was thinking it sounded as if they would kill each other any minute. They talked for a few moments before I heard a click and then someone else coming on. Oksana switched to English and introduced me into the conversation. And that was it. _Show no fear, Plum. No fear._

"Your friend says you have something I might be interested in," I heard a man say with a heavy Russian accent.

"Yes. I… I believe you are looking for someone," I said at which I heard the man laugh.

"I am a man with quite a few _business ventures_ and look for all sort of people."

"Joyce Barnhardt being one of them?"

There was silence on the other end of the line and I wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad sign.

"What about her?"

"What if I could _retrieve_ her for you?" I asked innocently at which the man on the other end laughed again. I somehow had expected this whole conversation to be a lot more scary and threatening.

"My dear… unless you are able to resurrect the dead I don't think that's possible. She is dead…"

"Are you sure?" I asked incredulous. "I could have sworn I walked into her the other day…"

More silence.

"Who are you?"

"Someone you share a mutual interest with in Joyce Barnhardt."

"I want to know who I speak to and you tell me where you are!"

Ok, maybe now the conversation started to become slightly scary. I was wondering whether we'd also move into threatening soon. I hoped not.

"I can't. What I can do however is promise you to get Ms Barnhardt to you. Quickly. Without much fuss."

More silence.

"Why should I care? I can find her now that I know she is not dead. Will be a couple of weeks…"

"I'm…. um…. assuming you are a busy man with a lot on your plate. Sure, in a few weeks you have her by yourself, but I have her with you in three days. Saves you time and manpower. And you can concentrate on more pressing business…"

Silence again. Apparently they weren't much into talking.

"What do you get out of this?" he asked and it was a fair question. One with a bit of a tricky answer that could make this all go very, very wrong. My initial response would have been _freedom_ but I obviously couldn't say this without giving too much away in regards of I was. So I went with my second answer which might turn this from scary to threatening in a few seconds.

"A finder's fee for my _troubles_ ," I said and yes, I had officially lost my mind. Here I was in an office in California trying to make a deal with the Russian mob. Oksana looked shocked and like she was passing out soon, not believing she had just heard me say that. I guess only few people get to make deals with these people and live to tell the tale. It was hard to explain where my confidence came from but some part of it was to be blamed on the fact that I had very little to lose. I was already on the run, living a life that was nice but was lacking substance and stability and truth. I was always watching my back for someone who might discover me. I was running from a jail sentence – now I might as well add the Russians to the mix if this went sour.

"How much?"

I took a silent breath. "Five percent of what she owes you." Oksana's eyes were as wide as saucers by now and she held on to the desk for support. She actually looked like she was about to pass out. And that said something when one considered she used to be married to one of these guys.

Hours seemed to tick by until I heard the man speak again. In contrast to before he wasn't laughing any more.

"That is quite a finder's fee."

"It was quite some trouble," I countered. More silence which was slowly eating at my calamity. If this went on any longer I was close to a nervous breakdown. I kept hearing Connie's voice saying _show no fear_ over and over again.

After more minutes of silence ticked by he finally spoke. "Ok. Five percent of what she owes us."

"Is that a promise?" I asked, remembering another thing Connie said to me once. There was silence again – not a good sign. But eventually I heard him say "Da, it is a promise."

"Good." I rattled of an address where he would meet me in three days and hung up, my hands shacking.

"Did you just bargain with the Russian mob?" Oksana asked incredulous.

I nodded, not believing this had worked. I needed something to drink to come down for this before I made my next call and started my plan.

"Unbelievable. I…. I knew gangbangers who have less balls then you do, Stephanie Plum," she said almost admiringly after a moment.

I called Shorty about half an hour after I had hung up with the Russians. Shorty was a sleazy car salesman and a living stereotype for his profession. He also was the go to man when you needed a good deal on a semi-decent car in the area. I figured pretty quickly that there weren't many ways to get Joyce back to Trenton. Flying was out of the question since I wasn't sure how you'd get that done without much drama and attention of others. Busses and trains posed a similar problem and took forever. With a car I at least could somewhat restrain her and make sure she was staying put. Of course you could always be stopped on route, but I figured I'd try something along the lines of citizen arrest. If I stuck to cheap and sleazy motels for the two stops I planned and bought food beforehand so we didn't need to stop at restaurants on route this could actually work.

Joyce Barnhardt and Stephanie Plum were going on a cross-country road trip!


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N Thanks to everyone who still reads and put up with my irregular schedule of posting :) I don't think i have to mention it, but this is a work of fiction and under no circumstances do I support the use of drugs or similiar, I also have no clue about affects or symptoms of these, so i just ran with whatever fit the story and kept it going.. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The clock was ticking and I knew I wasn't having much more time to get to Joyce. There was a potential risk of her fleeing anytime soon and never resurfacing again so I needed to make sure that didn't happen.

I sneaked into work on a day I wasn't actually supposed to work. Getting the general room key I made my way to Joyce' room and made sure no one was in it. With the general passcode to overwrite whatever personal code a guest choose for the in-room safe I got hold of her fake passport and was therefore sure she had for the moment no way of getting anywhere with these.

Of course I was certain her purse probably contained a fake ID that I somehow would need to get a hold of as well, but for the moments her passport did just fine in stopping her.

My next stop was Shorty. He had a few cars for me to look at based on what I told him in regards of purpose and price I could afford. Half an hour later I was the proud owner of a rundown Pick-Up truck which wasn't my first choice to be honest. But I was told the Ford was a reliable vehicle with little miles compared to its age and that pretty much sold me. I knew, naïve, and one would think after all the years and cars I had bought over the years I would know better than taking the word of a car sales man for granted. But well….

I knew I needed to move today if I wanted to make my deadline with the Russians. I had no other choice and fished the bottle of Rohypnol out of my bag and got a bottle of water which I dosed with the drug. It was a long drive and I certainly didn't need Joyce awake during it, but I also knew there was a certain time frame- mainly the last portion of the trip – where I had no other choice. I figured I could get away with drugging her tonight and then once again tricking her tomorrow when she might not suspect it again. A third time I figured I wouldn't be so lucky.

I stored my duffel bag behind the driver's seat between the seat and the backseat and made my way back to the hotel. While I was waiting for an ideal moment to strike I got my phone and typed a couple of emails to get my plan further in motion. I wasn't entirely sure how that part of my plan was working out but I figured if it didn't work as planned I had backup plans just in case.

My plan however had a small flaw. I wasn't sure how to separate Joyce from her guy. They weren't constantly together but it wasn't as if there was a pattern of when they weren't. I was trying to figure out a way when watching him flag down a cab and disappearing without Joyce. I wasn't sure how much time I had but it was either now or never. Getting into the hotel I was seeing or rather hearing Joyce already from far away, arguing with Oksana.

"One of your maids stole my passport!" she explained and I had to admit, I wasn't thinking she'd realize it that quick. Joyce must have been on her last day and preparing for her departure.

"I guarantee you my maids certainly did not do such thing."

"Then how do you explain that my passport is gone from the safe?!"Joyce screamed and I wasn't sure who I felt sorry for more. Oksana, who handled this all well, especially since she probably figured it was me who took the passports, or Joyce who was hanging on by a threat, probably seeing her perfectly laid plan fall to pieces. Well….not just yet.

"Ma'am, you have to calm down," I suggested, knowing this was a bold move but well… I had lowered my voice a bit and was hoping that Joyce was so angry that she wouldn't pay too much attention to me. With the way I looked it was harder to recognize me right away so I hoped this wouldn't end with way more trouble. I handed Joyce the bottle of water, prompting her to drink something.

"I…I'm sure it is all just a big misunderstanding and you just put it in your purse. Have you checked your purse?" I asked, rattled my questions at her and saw how she looked at me for a moment too long. This was it. I was busted, she'd made me and I was wasting the only chance I had at getting this taken care off.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" she asked suspiciously.

"I… I work here. You've probably been seeing me around," I said.

She still looked at me suspiciously while opening the bottle of water I had handed her and took a few sips. "I don't think that's it. You seem way too familiar…" Great, while Joyce was busy trying to figure out how she knew me I hoped the Rohypnol would kick in quickly. I remembered that it didn't take too long with Cal but I also knew I had put in quite a lot of the stuff to take out an elephant. With Joyce' dosage I had been a bit more careful. Not that she was worth it.

"I…. I don't feel so good," I all of a sudden heard Joyce next to me complain. Perfect.

"Maybe you need some fresh air. How… how about we go outside and you take a few deep breaths and let the manager of the hotel look around the room and make sure the passport is gone?" I said, not waiting for Joyce answer but rather dragging her almost behind me and shoving her out of the door. I just needed to get her close enough to the car for when she'd become unconscious. Otherwise I'd have to drag her almost across the whole parking lot and there was no way that this wouldn't look suspicious somehow.

I watched Joyce breath in and out, looking at me intensely, still trying to figure it out when I heard her yell "Plum!" Oh damn. So she finally figured it out and I was certain she'd quickly start running away and I had another problem. But all of a sudden… she collapsed. The Rohypnol seemed to have fully kicked in and not a moment too late. We were a few feet from my car and getting her into the passenger seat was hell. She was heavier than she looked and I had no way of asking Oksana. Time was a sensitive issue as it was. Any minute someone could walk past us and see Joyce at my feet, calling 911. I heaved her into the seat after a few moments of struggle and wrestling and had her handcuffed with two pairs of cuffs to said seat a moment later. I also cuffed her feet, which made her look like one of these prison inmates in shackles, but I didn't care. She had it coming and deserved every bit of it. And I sure as hell would not feel sorry for a woman who put me through hell!

"I need her purse," I let Oksana know when I hurried back inside the hotel.

"You really know what you are doing?" she asked and I shook my head no.

"Not really, but I know this is the only chance I get. And I need to take it and get out of here quickly before her companion returns."

"Speaking of which…what do you want me to do about him?" Oksana asked.

I shoved an envelope across the counter. "Get these in obvious sight in their room. Put them somewhere where he will definitely see it…" I instructed, seeing Oksana look surprised. "It is a print out of the confirmation for a one-way ticket to Panama. When he asks about her, tell him she asked you to call a cab to the airport. You need to get rid of her luggage, or most of it anyway. I don't care what you do with it, I just need this all to look like she took off."

"You want him to believe she abandoned him…" Oksana figured and I nodded.

"That way he won't get ideas trying to figure out what is going on or why she isn't answering her phone."

And with that I was gone. I got into the car and started my trip across the country, a feeling of relieve, anxiety and excitement building inside me. It was a weird mix and left me antsy. I choose roads less traveled which should also minimize the risk of someone seeing us or rather seeing something that could be out of the ordinary. But just in case someone _did_ stop us I had a plan. Citizen Arrest. Sure it could be interpreted several ways and it seemed more like a grey-blurry area than anything, but I guess I would cross that bridge once we actually got there. For now – the destination was Trenton.

I was going home – the first time in months and something I hadn't even been sure I would ever be able to say again.


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: I wish everyone a very merry christmas wherever you are in the world. I hope you spent the holidays among family and loved ones and have a few peaceful days filled with laughter, joy and love!_

* * *

The first few hours were not exciting – which i guess was a good thing. The less exciting this was the less likely it was that I wouldn't make it back to Trenton.

I made a stop or two on the road, mainly for refueling or just to get out of the car and walk a moment since my butt was falling asleep from all the sitting. Joyce managed to wake up somewhere around the time we were crossing from New Mexico into Texas. She wasn't awake for long. As predicted I was able to trick her into drinking more or the water that contained Rohypnol and she was out again a while later.

The thing was that Joyce thought she was smarter than everyone else so you just needed to give her the feeling of her having outsmarted you and you succeeded at pretty much everything. Even if only for a while until she figured it out. I was aware that it wouldn't work another time so I knew the last bit of this trip I was forced to endure Joyce in her full glory. But I figured it was a small price to pay for being able to not run any longer and proof my innocence. I stopped in the early hours somewhere between Texas and Oklahoma, finding the seediest looking motel I could spot and checked in for the night. The room was only 30 bucks and no one asked a lot of questions and only needed to see ID. I found a parking spot that was covered by trees and bushes on the sides which made it hard to see anything at this hour and I was able to drag Joyce inside the room, closing one of the cuffs around the bed so she was able to lay but not leave should she wake up during the next few hours.

Hanging up a _Do not disturb_ sign outside our door was hopefully enough to get a bit of sleep for a few hours without being interrupted by Housekeeping.

Finally I lay down, feeling exhausted from the endless hours of driving through deserts and long, straight and seemingly endless roads.

I didn't sleep much or well for that matter, but that didn't surprise me. The few hours I managed to sleep were restless and with weird, reoccurring dreams which starred most of Trenton. By the time I woke up again and gave up on sleep I was surprised to see that Joyce was still out cold. I repacked the toiletries I had needed before falling asleep and packed up the food or rather snacks I hadn't eaten last night. Getting Joyce back into the car in broad daylight was very risky and there was a part in me that was tempted to literally just throw her on the loading area of the pick up and let her stay there for the rest of the trip. She certainly deserved it.

I spotted the cart from the maid at the beginning of the building, assuming we'd be fine for a few moments. There weren't any cars around and the whole motel area looked deserted and almost spooky to be honest. I opened the passenger door as wide as possible, ran inside and almost carried Joyce outside, getting her into the car and fastening all her handcuffs again. I closed the door and locked them, got back inside and got the rest of my stuff before we were on the road again.

A part of me started to worry when she was still out an hour after we had left the motel. Sure, her not being awake was ideal, but I wasn't sure whether you were supposed to be out for the amount of time she was now unconscious. I started almost freaking out a bit, wondering what to do and whether I shouldn't find a hospital and whether there was a thing like overdosing on Rohypnol when she woke up.

She moaned and groaned for a moment, probably feeling like she was hit by something before she most likely remembered the last few things that happened before she passed out.

"Plum!" was initially her first real word.

"Joyce," I said coldly, noticing how she was struggling against the cuffs. "Don't bother, they won't stay on long enough."

"What are you doing? Where are we? Why am I even here?" she asked and I rolled my eyes. Seriously? She really asked why?

"I'm driving a car at the moment," I pointed out the obvious, "and we are a few miles outside Dallas."

"What are we doing outside Dallas? And where are we going?" she asked annoyed and I suspected she had a very good idea of where we are going.

"We are going home," I said, assuming I didn't need to answer her first question, seeing the answer to both questions was the same.

"To … to Trenton?" she asked, her voice loud and high.

"Yes, to Trenton."

"Why?" she asked, still in a shrill and high voice.

"Geez, Joyce, why do you think?" I almost yelled back. "What possible reason could someone have who is accused of having killed you to get you back to Trenton?" I asked sarcastically.

"You are kidnapping me," she exclaimed and a moment later yelled "Help" several times. I just turned up the radio to a volume that was almost painful but covered her screams until she gave up.

"And you are dead," I finally said. "So I don't think that makes much of a difference. But…. please keep yelling. I am very curious in witnessing how you'll explain the fact that you are supposed to be dead and yet, you are here, very alive."

She shut up quickly, thinking this through. "I have my ID's that state a different name."

For a moment I took my eyes of the road and just stared at her in disbelief. "So? You do realize fingerprints and Google don't care who you claim to be. It won't take a lot to get people asking all sort of strange questions you probably can't answer really."

"So what are we doing now?" she asked after a long silence.

"It's as simple as that. I get you back to Trenton to prove you are very much alive. Also…. Some people _can't wait_ to see you again. Russian friends of ours," I said and saw her freeze. Good, I guess that got her attention then. "I have a gun and am at a stage where I am very determined to get you back to Trenton – one way or another. If it is with a bullet in your leg or arm – I don't think our friends would mind…"

She looked at me and I stared back at her for a moment as well. Truth was I didn't want to shot her, since that would raise way too many questions. The gun wasn't for her as such but more for my own protection and to make sure the deal I agreed to would end with me still being alive.

Connie once told me that to people from that side of the law honor was untouchable. If they made a promise it was usually kept. I had a promise, but I wasn't sure if Connie's rules for the Italian side of the family also applied to the Russian side. For all I know they couldn't care less about someone who wasn't from their country and would just shot me dead the moment they saw me with Joyce. And I needed to make sure this didn't happen.

"I don't know what you are talking about," my companion said, trying to play dumb. Not that she needed much to play the part.

"I know about you and your… situation. That you owe money to certain people from colder climates. That it became so much that the only way of getting out of that was to run and pretend you are dead. What I don't understand is… why me? Do you really hate me so much?" I asked, surprising myself with the question. To be honest, I wasn't even sure I cared at this stage. It was done and I had spent too many hours and days wondering about the answer. At some point, it didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter whether there actually was a reason or whether it was co-incidental.

"It wasn't my idea if that's what you are thinking. You were… collateral," she stated matter of factly and I was honestly considering the gun behind me in the duffle bag. Maybe shooting wasn't so bad now after all – especially since she was already technically dead.

"Good to know," I simply said because what else do you say to that? Thank you for not making it personal, maybe?

"Look, Plum. This whole thing was supposed to be different. I was supposed to be on a tropical island by now, not caring what people in Trenton do…"

"I'm accused of killing you, Barnardt. I'm not sure in what tacky world you live, but in the real world most of the accused go to prison for something like murder. Or get executed. This isn't some child play where there aren't consequences…"

"Oh please, as if I don't know that. I had to give up my life…" she countered and I was about to stop the car and hit her before shooting her.

" _You_ had to give up your life? _You_?" I asked, almost outraged. "I ran away from the police, worried I get arrested any moment and sent to prison. The media had a field day with me, having found the biggest news in a while and tearing me down. Friends – or people who I thought were friends – turned away from me and I was forced to not only drug a very dear person to me but also steal from another very important person. I probably disappointed a lot of people and let down even more just because you decided on playing dead and blaming me. Don't tell me you had to give up anything before you don't walk in my shoes and went through the hell I had to get through the past months. You only took money and made a run for it."

"I had to give up quite a lot as well…" Joyce tried to argue and I just huffed.

"What exactly did you give up, Joyce? Your family is either dead or doesn't speak with you anymore. You hardly have anyone you can call a friend – but guess what? That's what happens when you screw over everyone you meet. You didn't have to betray anyone other than TPD and the State of New Jersey. So tell me, Joyce, what exactly was it that you gave up?"

"Well, I'm dead. So I can't live as jauntily as I want either."

"Yeah, because living on a tropical island is a really big, bad burden to deal with when you don't have to think about family and friends all the time. Do you even listen to yourself speak?"

"Look…." she started again my patience was slowly thinning. "For what it's worth you weren't supposed to be involved. It was supposed to be… an accident or something. and before I knew I read you were a suspect and Caffrey said it had to be like that and that we needed someone we can blame because it was too risky if not. And the Russians wouldn't believe a simple suicide. I wasn't really agreeing…."

"Wait a minute. Who is Caffrey? The lead detective?"

"Yes," she just answered annoyed at probably being interrupted and all of a sudden a few things made a lot more sense. How it was possible to pull off her death to begin with. Why the detective wasn't really keen on looking at other options. And why that guy she was with seemed so familiar. Because it was him.

"Before I could do anything it all was out of control and …well, the rest you know."

"How did you pull it off anyway?" I asked curious. This was going places I hadn't anticipated.

"I don't know. Caffrey did it all. I just know he knew someone who could pass as me and then…. He asked for my fingerprints. The rest I don't know. Don't care either. He got me out of that situation. And you ruined it all…"

"Forgive me for not caring that I ruined your masterplan," I said sarcastically. And then there was silence. I kept thinking about what she had told me and the fact that until now my plan had a small flaw that I was about to correct.

I left our road to stop at a resting area for a moment and killed the car. "Need to call our friends," I said and got out of the car. I walked nervously back and forth with my phone to my ear, mumbling and occasionally yelling. We were alone out here so I wasn't worried to be discovered anytime. A few smartly placed comments, a few curses and we were done.

I made sure Joyce didn't need the restrooms and got back in the car, continuing onwards to Trenton.

"What will you do with me?" Joyce asked after a moment.

"What do you think? You think I just called them for fun? They wanted an update on when we'll be back in Trenton. We'll meet them as Roselyn Park, they make sure it really is you and you are on your own from then onwards…"

"Don't you care what they'll do with me?" she asked.

"No, why? Did you care what would happen with me after I was accused of being your killer?"

Silence again. Her next comment didn't really surprise me. "I'll pay you. Ten thousand dollars if you let me walk. Imagine what ten thousand dollars can do for you…"

"And yet there are things more important than money. Things money actually can't buy. Things like freedom and not having to worry or look constantly over your shoulder to make sure no one finds out your dirty secret. I want to live a normal life Joyce. I want to be able to see my family and friends without having to worry I get arrested. And that is something… that is more valuable to me than money. I don't want to spend the rest of my life running away from something I didn't do. You go back to the Russians. Tomorrow afternoon you are back with them and I don't care what happens with you."

Two hours later I pulled into another resting area, both me and Joyce actually needed to use the restroom and I was faced with a real challenge. I took the closest parking spot to the restrooms and saw there were only two cars around. It weren't many but they were still a problem. I waited for five minutes, thinking of what to do and how to get Joyce to the restrooms when one of them pulled out and left. I knew hoping the second one would do just the same was wishful thinking and decided to get going before a new car arrived. I uncuffed her right hand first and cuffed my arm to hers. That way she couldn't run away as such. Next I uncuffed her feet and last but not least her left arm. I pulled her quickly after me and into the first stall that was available. From the looks and sounds of it was it just the two of us.

"You are not seriously expecting me to pee in front of you, are you?" she asked outraged.

"Either this or I get you a bottle once we are back in the car. You can pee into that one if that is a more preferred choice."

Joyce huffed for a moment but complied. I admit it wasn't my favorite thought either but what choice did I have? It wasn't as if I could just cuff her to one of the stalls and have both of us do their own business by themselves. Next to the restrooms was a small shop and I decided to get a few things after I had secured Joyce back into her passenger seat. I dumped my purchases into her lap and the backseat and pulled out, getting back on route to Trenton.

Just after Roanoke I decided we needed to stop for today. My legs and ass was slowly feeling numb again. I grew tired but then again we had managed to get quite a lot of rod done. I got us a room and managed to get Joyce into the room without much fuss. I guess she finally decided and accepted this was the way it was going. When she wanted a shower I pulled a trick out of Morelli's book and cuffed her to the shower rod telling her to shout when she was done.

After that I cuffed her to the bed again.

"Can we maybe ease up on these damn cuffs?" she asked annoyed again at which I shook my head no. She was back to her three handcuffs, one around each wrist connected with the bed, a third pair locking her ankles. Excessive? Yes. But I wasn't taking any risks.

Plus, I considered it payback.

And payback supposedly was a bitch.

Though not as big as Joyce Barnardt.


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: First of all...Happy New Year to you all - though I'm like two weeks late,but hey, it's the thought that counts, right? Hope you all will have an amazing year and if you don't have him already, I wish for everyone to find theur own personal Ranger!_

 _I already aplogize for the cliffhangar at the end. Sorry - and I really mean it!_

* * *

I once again had only slept little but had quite an eventful night to say the least.

I took a quick shower and rushed through my morning routines. Checking Joyce was still asleep I slipped outside, taking a few deep breaths and got my phone. This would be tough, I knew.

I dialed the number and listened to the ringing tone. I knew it was early, but he'd be up.

"Hello?" I heard his voice and was almost hanging up. I was a bit worried about his reaction.

"Eddie?" I asked. "It's Stephanie," I went on cautiously.

"Steph?" I heard him ask in disbelieve. "Steph, is that really you. Steph?" He kept repeating my name over and over as if he couldn't believe it was really me. "Where are you? Are you ok? Are you safe?" he started with a catalogue of questions.

"I…need a favor," I said, biting my lip, waiting anxiously.

"Anything," he said and as sweet as it was I knew he wouldn't be able to do _anything_. But it was sweet that he said it.

"I need you to… meet me," I said.

"Say when and where…"

"Coppers alley, across Roselyn Park, at 1 pm today."

Silence for a moment. "Roselyn Park here in Trenton?" he asked in disbelieve. "You are in Trenton?"

"Not exactly. Not yet anyway. I just…. you just have to be there and meet me and I'll… I'll explain everything."

"Steph, you… you don't have to meet me. Just… tell me where you are and…"

"NO, please Eddy. Don't talk me out of this," I almost pleaded. "I need to see you and I …I promise I'll explain everything. Just… be at that alley at Roselyn Park today at 1 pm," I said and hung up. Then I made my second call, giving my conversation partner an update on the meeting and that I was still bringing Joyce. I quickly checked my email account, seeing I had received a few replies to my email from a few days ago.

"I have a cramp," Joyce was complaining, when I came back into the room.

"And I care why?" I asked less than sympathetic. That shut her up quickly.

Half an hour later we were on our way again. Just a few hours away from Trenton and the closer we got there somehow the more anxious and also more excited did I get. I had no clue how today would end, I had a few ideas though. I hoped I had covered most ideas and events but was well aware that of course there was no chance to cover everything!

The last few hours of our time together went by quickly and surprisingly without many words spoken. I had assumed she would try to bribe me again but I guess the speech I gave the last time she tried was convincing enough that I wouldn't agree to any kind of deal she'd offer me.

I pulled up into an alley across to Roselyn Park with about twenty minutes til one. I let out a few deep breaths and got out of the car. Opening the backdoor I reached into my duffle and rummaged until I found my gun, which I stuffed in the back of my jeans. I hoped I wouldn't have to use it, especially seeing how many precautions I took to make sure this would go down smoothly.

A few minutes before one I saw a car pull into the alley. The exchange was about to happen and I wasn't entirely sure how the next few minutes would go by.

I watched a few bulky man get out of the car and wait next to it until someone else got out. It was an older man, smaller than his army and less bulky but not less intimidating. The man studied me for a moment, surprise clearly visible in his face.

"The bounty hunter?" he asked with a thick Russian accent, confirming what I had already suspected.

I walked backwards to my car, opened the passenger door and got Joyce out, bringing her closer to our guests.

The man looked at us, I starred at them.

"I upheld my end of the deal, what about you?" I asked confidently, hoping everything else I had arranged was in place and ready to go.

"She really is alive," the man said a moment later as if he hadn't thought she was until now. He nodded a few times, looked at Joyce, than at me and back at Joyce again.

"What makes you think I don't just shoot you, Miss Bounty Hunter? I have my lost property back, I don't need you any longer," he asked and fairly spoken it was a good question. I wasn't sure. I didn't know. And the fact that he knew I was a bounty hunter meant he was probably well aware with the kind of trouble I attracted. After all I made the papers often enough.

I saw people moving at the entrance of the alley and the same moment I spotted them so did the army of Mr. Russian. And things really would be easier if I actually had a name! Before his guys could do anything stupid, I decided to step in and save my plan.

"They will make sure," I said pointing behind him towards who had just entered the alley. He turned around and looked surprised.

"Ladies and gentleman from the press," I said a moment later, seeing him turn towards the press and then to me again, surprised all over. "Joyce Barnhardt, who is not as dead as everyone thought she is." I gave it a moment for that to sink in before I continued. "And I'm Stephanie Plum."

With that statement mayhem broke loose. All sort of questions broke down on me and for a moment I could only see flashlights. How did you find her? Where have you been the past few months? What did you do? How was live on the run?

"Who is he?" someone asked, pointing towards my Russian friend. Though I was certain he wasn't feeling friendly right now.

"He … is someone who helped me capture Joyce and make sure we both returned safely to Trenton," I lied, thinking it was definitely better than the truth. And I was certain he'd appreciate me not telling the truth.

I looked past the flashlights and made out Eddy somewhere in the back. He was pretty much all I could see, so I grabbed Joyce and pulled her with me. After a few steps I realized Eddy wasn't alone. I stopped in my tracks for a moment not sure whether I really saw this correct.

Eddy was surrounded by RangeMan. I saw Tank and Bobby, Lester and Cal. And right next to Eddy was Ranger. All looked at me with carefully masked facial expressions which made this impossible for me to judge. I felt like running but being cuffed to Joyce again wasn't making this a possibility. Also the fact that I was in the back of the alley and they blocked more or less the only way out made an escape a bit tricky as well.

I started walking again, dragging Joyce with me until I stood in front of them. For the moment I focused completely on ignoring RangeMan. I had to.

"I… I trust you know what to do with her," I said, fishing out one of the keys to unlock the handcuff that was around my wrist. I dropped the rest of the keys into his hand and saw him look at me shocked.

"Is that really you, Steph?" he finally asked and it didn't even appear to me that I looked different. To me this was my new me, the face I saw every morning when looking in to the mirror.

"I… yes. This really is me. I guess you somewhat understand my need for changing a few things about me."

"You…. You look amazing," he finally said after a moment's hesitation. "Wherever you have been these past few months it did you well…and you look like you took real good care of yourself. And I'm glad about it. Better this way than the other options."

Then he hugged me. And I was close to tears. I had missed this, my friends, people I loved. I missed being close to them. Leave it to Joyce to interrupt our moment.

"So, I'm not going to the Russians?" she asked astonished.

I let go of Eddy and turned towards her.

"No, Joyce, you are not going to the Russians. I… I didn't just drive three days cross-country so that some Russian guy makes sure you disappear for real this time. As hard as that might be for you to understand, but I have somewhat of a conscience. Something that you clearly don't seem to have."

She thought about that for a moment. "So what happens to Ca-?" she started her questions before I interrupted her.

"If I were you I'd be glad to get of this easy and just spent the rest of your miserable life in prison being someone's bitch. And for what you did to me, you quite honestly deserve every horrible second of it."

Eddy took Joyce from me and the press asked a few more questions, made a few more pictures and off they went. They had their new front page story and enough pictures for probably three page specials for the next few days.

Eddy took Joyce in and I was left with the Russian mob behind me and RangeMan in front of me. Great. Somehow I should have thought this better through. I knew my plan had a flaw. But then I didn't figure Eddy would call and fill Ranger in on my return.

I couldn't look at RangeMan so I turned around and faced some bad guys.

"This wasn't the deal." He might have been right with that analysis.

"Actually…. I never promised you to give you Joyce. I promised to get her to Trenton and for you to see her," I argued and wondered for a moment whether I'd lost my mind. This was the Russian mob. The freaking Russian mob. And I argued about deals and details.

Mr. Russian looked less than impressed. I couldn't blame him. I was certain there weren't many people who tried ripping the Russian mob of. And if they tried they probably weren't alive any longer to talk about it. But I wasn't finished yet anyway….

"Joyce might be gone, but I have someone you might be more interested in anyway…" I said, slowly walking towards my car and opening the backdoor again. I managed to get Detective Caffrey out of the door and into the alley.

Funny story about him showing up in our motel last night. I had hoped by putting the fear of god into Joyce and leaving her alone in the car after our bathroom trip with my burner phone in reach she'd be tempted to call him. I assumed with the right incentive and pressure she would make sure he came and got her, telling him how I kidnapped her and was driving back to Trenton.

My first clue that she must have made a plan was when she almost insisted on a motel we drove past in Roanoke. She was more subtle but still not subtle enough. Of course another clue was that the number she had called was still in my outgoing calls log. She played right into my hands and thanks to her I now had someone to smooth things over with the Russians.

I am not entirely sure how he knew which room we were in, but I was laying wide awake when I heard someone work on the door. It was surprisingly quiet and if I hadn't been awake I would never have heard it. Reminded me a bit about Ranger's skills to be honest.

When I realized it was him I took him out. I used the lamp next to my bed and hit his head with it so hard he passed out.

While Joyce and I had enjoyed the comforts of our motel room – some of us more freely to walk around then others – Detective Caffrey was laying handcuffed and gagged across the backseats of my pickup. And a bit of the Rohypnol water that worked so well on Joyce might have played a role in it as well. Because the windows in the back were all tinted black it was almost impossible to see inside the truck, which was why I decided to leave him lying there for the remainder of the trip.

"Who's he?"

"The mastermind behind Joyce death and her disappearance," I explained.

"And why do you think he is of any more value to me than the woman?"

"From where I'm standing… it shouldn't matter. You have someone you can blame and who is as responsible for this as much as Joyce if not even more so. While Joyce goes to prison you have someone who can work on paying back these debts. And when she gets out of prison eventually, and he hasn't managed to pay it all back…. You have two people working for you…" it was simple Math. Of course my equation only made sense when they let him live long enough to start paying back the debt.

He looked at me for a moment. Than at Caffrey. And back to me. Back to Caffrey.

And all of a sudden things happened so quickly. I saw Caffrey move, his hands free from the cuffs that I had him secured in. He reached for me, grabbed the gun from the back of my jeans and pointed it towards us. I heard the shot and acted out of instinct – though I can't really say which one to be honest – and got between the Russian mobster and the bullet.

It hurt like a bitch and I felt myself falling. I heard yelling and saw people blurry around me, yelling in English, Spanish and what I assumed was Russian. Someone called for an ambulance and I only remember thinking this was it. And oh the irony. I was wanted for a murder I didn't commit, fled cross country, started a new life just to find the person I was wanted for killing. I was dragging her cross-country back to Trenton and bargained with the Russians, getting my name cleared and got her safely into police custody just to die now from a bullet fired from the guy who wanted to frame me for everything.

The last thing I remembered before my heavy eyelids closed was laying in Ranger's arms and him simply saying "Babe".

"I'm sorry for everything," was all I could say before the world became black.


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: People will probably hate me for this chapter, seeing that everyone wants to know what happens next and I'm giving you... Ranger's POV of the last chapter. BUT,... next next chapter brings you all the answers - maybe :) And we are slowly moving towards the end of this story. Though... the end actually isn't written yet._

* * *

I couldn't believe this. Eight months of searching and looking, of turning over almost every stone and now things were supposed to end like this? With Babe dying of a bullet?

Eddy had called earlier and I couldn't believe what he had been telling me.

"Steph just called me," he said when I picked up the phone and at first I thought I had misheard. "She's on her way to Trenton and wants me to meet her. Opposite Rosalyn Park. I figured you wanted to know…"

"What do you mean she wants to meet you? Why?" This didn't make sense. And why was she calling Eddy instead of me? Had she forgotten my number? Or maybe she wasn't trusting me? After all, throughout the course of this mess enough so called friends had decided to turn against her. Maybe she figured I'd be just one of many who believed the initial evidence more than my knowledge that she wouldn't do anything like that.

"She didn't say. Just called to tell me to meet her. She wants to explain things to me."

"We'll meet you there. What time are you supposed to meet?"

"One this afternoon. I figured you wanted to join the party." And then he hung up.

About twenty minutes before the time Tank, Bobby, Lester, Cal and I were waiting at the alley. None of them at first believed really when I told them about Eddy's call. None of us had expected this. After such a long time finally a life sign.

We watched a pick-up turn into the alley and we saw a woman get out. Beach-blonde, tall and fit. She looked nervous for a moment, before she rummaged in the back of the car and I think I spotted her putting a gun in the back of her jeans. Then she went around the car and opened the passenger seat, getting someone else out of the car. At first I wasn't sure what to think of this until I realized the second person was Joyce Barnhardt. She had changed slightly, different hair, a bit slender, but not enough to really fool anyone for long. And that's when it made click and I looked at the blonde again.

"Is that…?" I heard Bobby next to me phrase the question that went through my head at the same time.

"Bomber?" Tank asked what me and Bobby and by the looks Cal and Lester as well, were thinking. Hot damn! Before I could act and walk towards her we saw another car all of a sudden pull into the alley. Several guys got out of the car and I saw Babe stand her ground, looking less than impressed. The guys screamed Russian and I was on high alert. What was going on here?

The guy in charge got out next and looked at Babe for a moment, then at Joyce. I couldn't make out what was being said but I could see surprise on his side. She shoved Joyce slightly in his direction and I had s strange feeling about this.

Next thing I knew Eddy was next to me and a few dozen reporters closed in on the alley and Babe with her party. We moved with them into the alley, trying to get the upper hand in this situation but all was lost. Especially when Stephanie addressed the press around us.

"Ladies and gentleman from the press," I heard her say, seeing her companion turn towards the press and back to her. "Joyce Barnhardt, who is not as dead as everyone thought she is." She made a dramatic pause to say the least before continuing. "And I'm Stephanie Plum."

And after that all hell broke loose. Questions were thrown at her, the flashlights were blinding and I started to understand that this had been a setup she herself initiated. The questions didn't seem to stop and occasionally Babe answered one, before she walked towards us. She looked at Eddy and stopped shortly when she saw me and my men. Somehow this wasn't how I had imagined our reunion.

A few more steps on her end and she stood in front of us. From near she looked even better than from afar. It wasn't as if I didn't find her attractive or beautiful before when she had crazy curls and a few pounds more on her body, but now… she was just stunning. Though it wasn't her looks, it was the confidence with which she presented herself. It was one hell of a turn on and quite honestly I couldn't wait to have her back at Haywood and up on seven. Yes, there were so many thing we needed to talk about, but I felt a bigger urge to fold her into my arms and never let her go. I wasn't big on talking anyway.

She stopped in front of us and looked at Eddy. "I… I trust you know what to do with her," she presented one of the keys to unlock the handcuff which secured Joyce to her. The rest of the keys she just gave Eddy, who looked more than just shocked.

"Is that really you, Steph?" he finally asked and I couldn't blame him. She looked confused for a moment, probably wondering why Eddy would ask this.

"I… yes. This really is me. I guess you somewhat understand my need for changing a few things about me."

"You…. You look amazing," he finally said after a moment's hesitation. "Wherever you have been these past few months it did you well…and you look like you took real good care of yourself." And I could only agree. She looked hot, fierce and good enough to devour to be honest. I was a private man who had no interest in displaying a lot of public affection, but seeing her, I was reconsidering my stand on this. Eight months had been a long time after all.

I saw them hug and a moment later Joyce spoke up.

"So, I'm not going to the Russians?" she asked astonished.

Stephanie looked annoyed to say the least. She let go off Eddy and turned towards Joyce.

"No, Joyce, you are not going to the Russians. I… I didn't just drive three days cross-country so that some Russian guy makes sure you disappear for real this time. As hard as that might be for you to understand, but I have somewhat of a conscience. Something that you clearly don't seem to have."

"So what happens to Ca-?" Joyce started asking, but Stephanie interrupted her.

"If I were you I'd be glad to get of this easy and just spent the rest of your miserable life in prison being someone's bitch. And for what you did to me, you quite honestly deserve every horrible second of it."

A part of me was proud of her and the fact that Joyce wasn't able to wrap Steph around her pinkie and make a run for it. I admired Babe's stand on things and her conscious while I also fixed my sight on the Russians behind us. I figured they were here for Joyce but wasn't quite sure why or how they knew. From the few fragments of conversation I had heard it sounded almost like Babe had this arranged as well, but… the Russian mob?

Eddy took Joyce from her and the press asked a few more questions, made a few more pictures and off they all went. Well, Eddy with Joyce and the press.

Stephanie looked shortly at us and I wasn't entirely sure what I saw on her face. Mistrust? Fear? Agony? Maybe a mix of all.

She turned around towards the Russians and I only saw them come closer. My hand automatically went for my gun, as did Bobby's, Cal's, Tank's and Lester's.

"This wasn't the deal," we heard the boss of it all say to Babe, but she didn't look impressed. So it had been her to initiate this meeting as well. That took some balls. I knew guys twice as tough as Babe who didn't have that kind of balls to make deals with the Russian Mob. I sure as hell hope Babe knew what she was doing.

"Actually…. I never promised you to give you Joyce. I promised to get her to Trenton and for you to see her," I heard her argue and admitted this was not ideal. These were guys who didn't understand humor very well or being overly into details.

They starred at each other for a moment and I grew nervous. I knew we could easily take them. The bodyguards weren't much of an issue, it was after all the three of them against the five of us.

"Joyce might be gone, but I have someone you might be more interested in anyway…"

She walked slowly towards her car again and a moment later I saw her produce someone else. A guy I hadn't seen before really, but who somehow seemed familiar. He was shackled even worse than Joyce which had me wondering who the hell this guy was. He walked slowly, as much as his shackled feet would allow anyway.

"Who's he?" the Russian mobster asked irritated.

"The mastermind behind Joyce death and her disappearance," Steph explained. That's why he seemed familiar. This was Detective Caffrey. Babe apparently had kept herself very busy.

"And why do you think he is of any more value to me than the woman?"

"From where I'm standing… it shouldn't matter. You have someone you can blame and who is as responsible for this as much as Joyce if not even more so. While Joyce goes to prison you have someone who can work on paying back these debts. And when she gets out of prison eventually, and he hasn't managed to pay it all back…. You have two people working for you…" It was impressive. Here Stephanie Plum, who always had been the joke of everyone's conversation and everybody's favorite Burg screw up, was, facing the Russian mob, making deals to her liking not looking the least intimidated or impressed by anything. Even the best of them could learn a thing or two from her right now.

"You never intended on giving me Joyce, did you?" he asked and Stephanie shock her head no.

"So why him and not her?"

"Joyce I know. And… well, she showed somewhat of remorse. He… didn't. And him I also don't know. He framed me intentionally for her death, build his case around me and wouldn't have cared if I had gone away forever for a crime I didn't commit."

I was so impressed and goddamn proud that I didn't see the shackled Detective reach for Babe and the gun in the back of her jeans. And wait! How exactly had he managed to get out of these handcuffs in which he was a few moments ago.

I started running, towards her, as did the others, but it was too late. He fired a shot and I saw her move – right into the way of the bullet and in front of the mobster, whose bodyguards seemed to have not seen this coming either.

She fell back, crashing onto the concrete floor. I yelled for someone to call an ambulance while Tank, Cal and the two mobster bodyguards were busy bringing down Caffrey. Bobby was next to Babe the same moment I was, looking at the wound. I only saw blood, so much blood, coming from her chest. The stains made it hard for me to see where exactly the entry wound had been. I heard Lester yell into the phone that we needed an ambulance and giving our location.

I pulled her into my arms, hoping Bobby could somehow work a miracle without any medical equipment and just looked at her. I wanted to tell her so many thing but the only thing that left my lips was my nickname for her. I think I saw her smile softly for a second before I heard a mumbled "I'm sorry for everything". Then her eyes closed and my heart stopped. This wasn't it. This couldn't be it, mustn't be it.

Eight long months of fruitless searching, just for her to come back like that in my life and… then be gone forever? I heard the ambulance behind me and people telling me to get out of the way, questions being asked in regards of her and us and what had happened.

A few minutes later they were gone again, with her fastened on a stretcher and Bobby riding with them to the hospital. I was close on their heels, just to be told she had been brought right into surgery a few moments earlier. All I – we really – could do now was wait.

This would be one hell of a long day – or night. And I wasn't sure I was prepared for whatever the doctors would tell me at the end of this. I wasn't sure I ever would.


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N: So... I tried uploading this chapter for the past two days without any success and with constant error messages. But finally today... I'd like to thank Vulcan Rider whose review actually inspired how this story might end - because so far I have the next chapter written and everything else is sort of... uncertain :) Happy reading :)_

* * *

Pain.

It was all I felt. Everywhere. Every bone in my body hurt, every muscle and I could swear even thinking hurt. Regardless of how little my movements seemed to be, they hurt like someone was stabbing me over and over and over again. The pain wouldn't subdue no matter how still I thought I lay. Somewhere in the distance I heard whispers, occasionally a louder voice but I couldn't make anyone out. All I saw was darkness.

A part of me was wondering whether this was hell – the darkness, the never-ending pain, the endless cycle of nothings. And I was surprised to be honest. Sure, I wasn't naïve enough to believe I'd been good enough to make it to heaven should the time ever come that I'd meet my maker but I figured me throwing myself in front of a mobster to save his life should account for _something_. Apparently not.

And then there was light – all of a sudden. It was so bright that I wasn't only blinded, no it hurt as well. But pain wasn't really any news. And that's when I realized the darkness had only been a result of me having my eyes closed. That would explain a thing or two.

I was thirsty, and hungry and had to pee and had I mentioned the pain already? I turned my head slightly around, trying to figure where I was, though the beeping should have given me an indication – as well as the scent. I was definitely in a hospital and apparently I wasn't alone in my room. Surprise didn't even start covering what I was feeling when I spotted Ranger in the chair next to my bed. The chair was barely able to hold his large frame and his position looked anything but comfortable. I wondered how long he had been here or even how long I had been here to be honest.

"I see you are up," I all of sudden heard a female voice. A nurse, who looked happy and way too enthusiastic for my taste. I saw Ranger in the chair next to me stir and a moment later he was awake as well.

"I… need to pee," I announced. I assumed with everything I was hooked up with I probably needed help to get to the restroom.

"You have a bag attached to you…" she just announced and took my vitals a moment later.

"I'm not peeing in a bag," I said outraged. Though, due being rather weak I wasn't sure whether I made a strong point.

"Ms Plum…," she started.

"I'm. Not. Peeing. In. A. Bag," I repeated myself, pronouncing every word separately.

"You are not up for leaving your bed yet," she argued.

"I'm not peeing in a bag," I repeated for another time and finally she must have given up. She just sighed, looked stern at me before starting to move a few of the things I was hooked up to around. I was almost certain that if she could she would have thrown her hands up in the air out of frustration.

Next to me I saw Ranger smile – well, rather what qualified as him smiling anyway.

"Let me get someone to help," the nurse finally announced and was about to leave when Ranger spoke up.

"No need. I'll get her to the bathroom…" he said, getting up and a moment later i was in his arms.

"You are not qualified," she exclaimed at which he just turned his head towards her as if asking _seriously?_ Of course this was Ranger and he was the specialist in talking without saying a word and still managed to get his point across.

"You two are made for each other," I heard her mumble and was almost certain this wasn't meant as a compliment. I saw Ranger smile this time for real and I just rolled my eyes.

I was carried by Ranger through the room to my bathroom, with my nurse following us, caring everything that had a tub attached to me somehow. Except for the pee bag, hopefully.

Five minutes later I was done and carried back to my bed by Ranger. Being honest, this was something I actually could get used to. Not the pain and being in a hospital obviously, but Ranger carrying me around had quite its perks.

I was hardly laying again when a whole brigade of doctors stood in front of my bed.

"How are we feeling today, Mrs. Plum?" I was being asked and not entirely sure how to answer that. It wasn't as if I had any point of reference to how I felt the previous days really.

"Okay, I'd say…" I decided to answer after a moment.

"Any pain anywhere?" another doctor asked.

"Pretty much everywhere," I answered truthfully.

Nodding.

"We'll up your pain medication and hopefully that will make it better."

One of the doctors asked a question into the group which was answered by two eager doctors in the making and more nodding followed.

"If … if you don't mind me asking…. What day is it?" I finally asked after several more questions were asked and answered within the group.

"Thursday," one of the doctors said and this time I nodded.

"So, I was out for only two days?" I asked, remembering it had been Tuesday when I had come back to Trenton.

"More like a week and two days, Ms. Plum," someone else said.

"Which isn't unusual. Considering your injury and the surgery this is quite a common time frame," the guy who I assumed was the main doctor of the group announced before stepping around to my side.

"We just need to look at the wound and its progress and than we'll speak to you about anything else," he informed me, indicating towards my chest. He pulled down the gown so he could access the dressing and a moment later took it off.

"Opinions, gentlemen?" he asked into the group and a moment later I had three more guys standing around, looking at my chest. I was grateful in a way that it was in the upper part of my chest and therefore left me laying in front of them somewhat decent.

After it was agreed by seemingly all attending doctors or doctors in the making that I was doing ok and that my injury was healing nicely they addressed me again.

"We'll monitor the healing process for a few more days, but by the looks of it there shouldn't be any complications, Ms. Plum."

"When do you think I can leave?" I asked, seeing him study me for a moment.

"I assume in a few days would seem a realistic timeframe. Your physician already requested the medical files so he can take over once you are able to leave. Until then, just take it easy and stay in bed. We'll put you on a special diet so you'll regain your strength seeing that your body has only been resting for the past week."

I nodded, hoping his special diet didn't rival Ranger's. And that's when his words sunk in.

"My physician requested my medical files?" I asked, finding it odd that Dr. Jenkins was so involved. But maybe it was general practice after being shot or something but still…. Weird.

"Yes, Dr Brown requested them a few days ago. He wanted to make sure everything was being done and get an update on your progress…"

"Dr. Brown?" I asked slowly. This certainly wasn't my physician. One look sideways at Ranger and I knew this wasn't up for negotiations. Not that I would. As a matter of fact – I liked Bobby and he had taken over as my physician several times when I had gotten myself hurt in ways that most physicians wouldn't be able to deal with.

After a few more _discussions_ about me the swarm of doctors left again, leaving me alone with Ranger. Which wasn't ideal come to think of it. We yet had to talk about…. Well, everything. My escape, that fact that I stole money from him, as well as weapons and drugged his men. Ok, it was just a weapon and also just a guy, but well…I guess it didn't really matter whether it was one or a dozen, it didn't make it better now, did it?

I let out a sigh, turning partly to Ranger – well as far as I could turn without hurting too much.

"Ranger I guess we need to…" I started but didn't get to finish when there was a knock at the door and a moment later Mr. Russian stood in my room.

"Ms Plum," he said in his thick, heavy Russian accent. Ranger next to me was already standing.

"Mr….," I started, before realizing that I didn't know what to call him. 'Mr. Russian' seemed a bit weird and even offensive. And the last thing I needed was to offend a Russian mobster. "Sorry… I'm not sure what to really call you," I finally said apologetic.

He just smiled at me, not giving me an actual answer.

"I believe I owe you my life," he went on at which I might or might not have snorted.

"Probably. But if it wasn't for me you wouldn't have been in this life-threatening situation. It was me who brought him there after all," I admitted. "So, I'd say we are even."

"Not really," came his calm reply. _I_ was anything but calm. "We had a deal."

I swallowed. Yeah, we did. One that I kept changing within its grey parameters. Oh god, this wasn't going to end well. What had I been thinking anyway? These were the Russians! The Russians! You don't just… make deals with people like this. Wouldn't I ever learn?

"And you upheld your end…"

"I'm sorry," I started, trying to not sound frantic or panicked. "It was just that…what?" I went on, before stopping mid-sentence. "I did?" I asked dumb folded and yeah, I know, not my best moment.

I just saw my opponent nodding. "You might not have given me Ms Barnardt, but s you said so yourself, that was never your attention. But I got him, the guy who apparently was orchestrating it all…"

Then he reached into his impeccable suit jacket and handed a piece of paper over to me. A check for 50.000$.

" _Now_ we are even," he said and left.


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N: There are no words to say how sorry I am for the long abscense. Truth be told, I lost my muse and inspiration - or rather my muse decided on a new adventure and fandom. This chapter is dedicated to all of you who kept pestering me about updating. I love all of you. But especially JIKJim! Hope you like it._

 _I will finish this story and not in a 'one more chapter and that's it way'. I will hopefully be able to write it the unrushed ending which it deserves. It just might take me a moment longer. So bear with me, ok? because I will finish it. That bheing said I actually think there will only be maybe 5 chapters or so left. None of which have been written :D So it might be more - or slightly less. We'll see. Stick with me!_

* * *

It felt like a dream. He had left and I still looked at the cheque in my hands as if it wasn't there. And who could blame me. I was getting paid for something that I actually didn't deliver.

Ranger was still next to me and I looked at the cheque again. Then to him. And back at the cheque. I knew what I had to do, it was the only right thing to do and somehow hopefully it would help to lessen my pain – not that my emotions or guilty conscience was the most important thing here.

I turned to Ranger, who had been remarkably quiet during the whole exchange between me and the head of the Russian family and handed him the cheque.

"It's yours. It… is doesn't cover everything that I owe you for … for… borrowing from your… um… private savings," I said, looking at him somewhat shameful. We hadn't spoken about my departure yet but I figured better now than never.

Ranger looked at me funny for a moment. He didn't really smile, but it wasn't a smirk either. It was something hard to explain. But he didn't look mad. At least it was out now and we could at best talk about it and hopefully remain the friends we were before this whole mess started.

"Babe," he started in his usual fashion and I couldn't deny the hot and cold shudder it sent down my body. Oh how had I longed to hear hms say this the past few months. "I don't want this," he said, laying the cheque on my covers. "It is your money and you earned it. For what it's worth borrow all the money you want and need. It's small change compared to what you are worth to me. And remember … no price. Ever."

His almost stern voice rang in my ears and I wasn't entirely sure what he meant.

"I didn't earn this. Hell, I almost got you killed because I wasn't smart enough to keep Caffrey properly restraint. I guess that was another thing I can add to my list of failures."

"Stop talking about yourself like that," Ranger said, almost commanding really. "I'm tired of people telling you that you are a failure or a disaster and can't get anything right. You just run away…" he said and ouch, that actually hurt more than I had imagined. But than again I hardly ever had Ranger accuse me of anything.

"I…" I started, but Ranger went on.

"You ran away and disappeared. No one could find you. And trust me, the guys and I tried. We are specialist in finding things and people. Always. But you…nada. You managed to completely get of the grid, start somewhere new, bring in Joyce and prove that you are innocent when it seemed no one else believed you anymore. And to top all that you made a deal with the Russian mob – something not a lot of people can brag about."

He stopped for a moment, probably giving me time to let that sink in, before he went on.

"Trust me, Babe, the last thing you are is a failure or a disappointment. If anything you are impressive, Babe."

"And yet I ended up getting shot," I mumbled at which he reached for my hand.

"And that alone makes you think you are a disappointment? Because you threw yourself in front of a bullet to save someone else?" he asked confused and well, if he put it like that it made more sense.

He tapped the cheque on my blanket. "This is yours. I don't care if you want to pay me back, I don't want it. I don't want your money. No price – as I keep telling you."

"But…" I started, seeing him look sternly at me, but I kept going. "Ranger," I said, as sternly as he had been. "There is a difference between a few hundred bucks and the amount I took," I said.

"Not for me," Ranger said seriously. "And to be honest I would have paid a lot more than what you took to have you back."

There was silence for a moment. I could see in his eyes that he was sincere. And now I was feeling guilty again, especially in regards of his last comment.

"I… I wanted to …to come back, to call you and see you," I admitted in a small voice. "But I knew I couldn't. I knew I needed to stay hidden and forget about you and about everyone, about Trenton. I never figured there could be a way to be home again and to be able to return and… and see you guys," I said, almost sobbing and feeling the tears coming up. Like finally the past few months caught up with me. "I thought I had to stay hidden forever…"

"I'm sorry I let you down," Ranger all of a sudden said, which made my head snap up in surprise. What was he apologizing for?

"I… I don't understand. You didn't let me down. It wasn't you who supposedly killed Joyce, who staged things or who tried arresting me. So… what are you sorry for?"

"For not being here when you needed me the most."

"Ranger," I almost sighed. "I honestly don't think you would have been able to do much. Well…. Much more than what Cal and the others tried doing anyway. You probably wouldn't have been able to solve the mess either. I had so many people telling the police it wasn't me or tried solving the murder, but to no avail."

"Those people weren't me," Ranger simply stated without any real emotion in his voice. "I would have done everything I could to have these people that accused you of being dumb and you being innocent. And I sure as hell wouldn't have let you walk out of that door and my life for over six months!"

"I didn't really walk out of the door, but rather sneakily snuck out at night, drugging one of your men and um…. well, let's not talk about that now."

Ranger just smiled at me for a moment, before his expression turned to somewhat more serious. Something told me we were heading towards a bit more serious topics with our conversation.

"How… are you?" he surprised me by asking. Not with the question of it as such, but with the out-of-the-blue kind of way he was throwing it at me.

"I'm good…. Well, as good as you can be when you have been shot."

Nodding from him. "And… how have you been? These past few months? You…changed a lot."

While stating that I changed, his fingers softly brushed along a stray strand of my now blonde hair. It was hard for me to tell whether he actually liked what he saw. But than again, it didn't really matter. I liked me. And for the first time in my life I actually could say that. I wasn't living by anyone's standards or ideas but had spent 6 months being me, working towards a version of myself that I liked. That being said, it wasn't as if I hated my slightly less trained, less athletic, brownish, curly-haired self, but I was never really satisfied with myself either.

I let his question sink in for a moment and knew it would have come sooner or later anyway. And maybe that we had this conversation now about what I had done these past few months… maybe it was good. That way we could move forward and focus on other things.

"I have been really good, despite the fact that I was constantly watching my back, afraid someone would spot me and arrest me. I… finally had time to think about stuff and my life and everything really. And I for once had no one telling me what to do, or that I wasn't good enough for anything else other than getting married or bear children – or get away with murder. I might have constantly been looking over my shoulder and worry that I wasn't going to be able to hide for long, but… I have been really good and met some really great people."

"Where have you been?"

"A better world," I said almost automatically. And I wasn't lying. It had been a better world and a better life if I was honest. Mainly because no one was telling me how to live my life and left me alone for most days.

Ranger looked surprised at me.

"That being said, it wasn't perfect. There were people I would have loved to see and speak to and hug and just… have in my life again. But that wasn't an option. I started working out and walking or rather riding my bike everywhere. The blonde was more a necessity than a real choice, but I have to admit I actually like it."

"So do I," Ranger more or less leered and I had to laugh. He was about to say something else, when we were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. _Morelli_.

"Cupcake…" he said, nodding and I barely could contain my need for rolling my eyes.

"Morelli. What do you want? And you can't knock? Like normal people do?"

"I'm here on official business," he just said, made a few steps further towards my bed and then looked surprised when he saw Ranger – like he hadn't been here the entire time. "Why am I not surprised to see you here, around her Manoso?"

"Don't know, maybe because you are actually aware of me being someone who truly cares for people and how they are doing."

"What's that official business you are talking about?" I asked agitated. I wanted to cut this as short as possible.

"You got shot," he just stated as if neither of us knew about that already. "That's my business. What happened?"

"That's Eddy's case," Ranger said within seconds. And I raised both eyebrows. This wasn't even Morelli's department. He was homicide. There was something else behind him being involved.

"I'm not dead, so I don't see how I could have been your case."

"I'm your boyfriend. I might also have been concerned for your well-being."

"You _were_ my boyfriend. You lost that privilege when you were getting me trialed for murdering Joyce Bernhard. All I think you are doing is trying to save face or your ass, by butting into Eddy's case, now that it is proved that I never killed Joyce, seeing that she is still very much alive. But guess what…. I won't do you that favor. You made your bed, now you better fucking sleep in it. You concern for me only stretches as far as you need to go to cover your ass," I announced, looking at him annoyed. I sure as hell wouldn't let it happen that he was going to use me for cleaning up his own mess.

"Cupcake…"

"The door's behind you. Do me a favor and close it since you were about to leave, right?"

"I…" he started, but I was already turning my attention back to Ranger. Was it rude? Yes, most likely. But it wasn't as if Morelli had been a poster boy for manners over the past few years himself.

"But I'm glad I'm back and see you again," I finally said to ranger, who had witnessed the exchange between me and Morelli with quite a bit of interest.

"And I'm glad to have you back," he smiled at me, a finger brushing softly over my cheek. "My life was way too boring without you causing mayhem."

A moment later I heard the door to my room close. And Morelli was gone.

Good.


	28. Chapter 28

_A/N: I have not forgotten about this fic. It will just take... forever for me to update, since my muse has long moved on to new fandoms. But here is an update. Sorry for the wait. But I'll keep trying to finish it. I know this is just a small update and short and probably not what a lot of people had expected after almost a year of waiting. Thanks for your patience._

* * *

It would take me another two weeks until I would be released from hospital. Two. Weeks. I get that with gunshot wounds there could be things like complications and such, but...two weeks? I was already bored out of my head after only a few days. So I wasn't entirely sure how to pass two weeks.

During this time I had plenty of visitors. Pretty much everyone I knew showed up, spending usually the first ten minutes of that visit weeping and crying and just being generally happy that I was back – except for my mother of course. Leave it to her to be the exception. Don't get me wrong, there was weeping, and crying and plenty of happy tears to have me back and this whole mess solved. But, after all this had been taken care of the only topic to talk about that seemed logical to her was me still being single.

I wasn't quite sure what she had expected to be honest. That her fugitive daughter would one day return with a ring on her finger and maybe a horde of grandchildren? And of course my mother had already a list of possible candidates she needed to introduce to me. Candidates who'd be very interested in my story and the likes.

"Mary Markowitz' son, Paul, has been asking about you," she mentioned and it actually took me a moment to figure out who she meant. "Pity Paul?" I finally asked and couldn't quite remember anymore where or why he had gotten that nickname. I just remember it was his ever since I knew him. At my mother's nodding, I rolled my eyes. "Mum, Paul is working for the local paper. The only interest in me he has is an exclusive about the case and what I did these past few months."

"Why do you always have to assume the worst?" she asked annoyed and I rolled my eyes once more.

"Because life taught me that. I assume he only asked in the beginning and now again, once I returned?"

"Yes, but it wasn't like there were any updates in between? You didn't really reach out to us now, did you?"

"Mum, I was a fugitive. F-U-G-I-T-I-V-E. As in running from the police. Calling you every week for updates would have been sort of pointless in regards of staying hidden."

"Any excuse, hu?" she asked and I decided this was a waste of time. Some things just never changed.

Everyone else from my family, who all visited me during these two weeks, were a lot easier on me. Maybe it was the gun shot wound. Maybe it was the fact that some of them actually had missed me. Maybe it was the way the papers portrayed me as this type of wonder woman that I read about and that they were…proud of me? Who knew? I wasn't going to ask and just enjoyed the fact to be finally be back.

And then there was of course Ranger. Who was visiting every single day. Every. Single. Day. And in between his Merry Men came with food to get back on my feet. Well… something they called food. I was just thinking about how to steal sugar somewhere in order to make this edible. I assumed it was something Ranger had given them, with orders to not get me anything else. Anything that was considered contraband anyway.

Cal saw my face and looked apologetic – at least something. He was my partner in stealing in contraband into RangeMan and usually quite creative. But even here I figured, his hands were tied.

And then they finally released me. Right into Ranger's supervision.

"I can go home, you know," I tried arguing, knowing technically that this would be point- and fruitless. But well, one could try.

Ranger didn't even bother with an actual reply and instead limited himself to a simple 'Babe' which was a universal answer to everything and covered a lot of ground replywise. 'Babe' was followed by just a look, which also covered a lot of ground. Ranger was the master of non-verbal replies and could say most things with just looking at you. It was a talent that I always wanted to learn but never quite got the hang of it.

"I'd like to keep you somewhere where I can have an eye on you. And RangeMan and seven is perfect for that purpose."

"Afraid I'll run away again?" I asked playful and saw him throw me a very strange look. Almost as if I hit it right spot on.

"Why would I run?" I asked confused. "Bernardt and Caffrey are taken care of, my case has been dismissed and everything is back to normal. Trenton has me back for good. Unless I get convicted of killing someone else…"

"Maybe you found something in that new life of yours that draws you back to that place," he said almost rueful and circles a strand of my still blonde, still straight hair around his index finger while looking at me with an intensity that had me go weak in the knees.

"Maybe one of the reasons I came back from that new life was living right here, in Trenton and gives me plenty of reason to stay…," I countered.

Ranger didn't answer my reply and instead hoisted my hospital bag onto his shoulder while grabbing my hand and pulling me after him, letting me eventually go ahead of him, while he rested his hand on my lower back.

A moment later I was in his Porsche and we wee on our way to RangeMan. Just like always. Some things just never changed.


End file.
